The Suicune's Choice
by An Author's Pen
Summary: Haru has always done things right: won eight badges, landed his dream internship. But when the time comes to wrap up his pokemon journey, right and wrong aren't so clear anymore. And duty pushes him down a dangerous path . . .
1. The Choice

**Chapter One - The Choice**

* * *

The lights inside the ranger's station burned a pale white. Haru Watanabe paused in the entryway, taking a deep breath of filtered air. A dark, aromatic scent wafted through the small room. The ranger on duty was making tea.

Haru approached the desk slowly, his heavy, waterproofed boots thudding against the floor.

"Morning," the ranger said, a slight yawn muffling her words. It was seven minutes past six. Outside, Route 119 was still dark and gray, the road winding through the reeds like the dark back of a seviper. "Early starter, huh?"

"The route gets too crowded mid-day," Haru replied. His voice came out low, but to his relief, it was steady.

"Returning traveler?"

"That's right." Haru held out his trainer's license.

"Eight badges, huh," she said, peering at her monitor. "Congrats. Your Class B expires this month, though. If you want to file for a Class A, the window's almost over," she added helpfully.

Haru shook his head. "I'm not going pro. I'm starting a research internship in a couple of weeks, actually."

"Really? What's your field?"

"Ecology. With a focus on micro-climates."

Now he had her attention. She looked up from the monitor, her orange bob swinging.

"That's my focus too! Micro-climates and the despeciation problem. It's why I took a ranger job here, to get some local experience before I apply to the Weather Institute's patrol team. What lab are you going to be working at?"

Haru swallowed. He hadn't been expecting questions. "Station 111—by the desert ruins. Mirage Tower, if you know it."

"Wow, yeah, that's one intense area," she said with a grin. "All those fossils. So what brings you out to this neck of the woods?"

His chest cut open. But somehow he found a smile, broad and overly bright. "You know. The micro-climates."

The ranger's laugh echoed tinnily off the station's metal walls. "Getting your fill of rainy weather before heading off to the desert?"

"Something like that, yeah."

A lull fell as she logged his information. Haru's foot began to tap against the ground. This had never seemed to take so long before.

"Haru," the ranger said suddenly, her eyes still fixed on the monitor. His stomach somersaulted. "That's an unusual name. It's pretty."

_Pretty?_ His name was common. He'd been the fourth Haru in his cohort growing up in Ecruteak. The other kids had called him "Caterpie" for his unusually wide eyes, probably inherited from the Kalosian grandfather his family never talked about.

"Thanks," Haru said, before the silence became awkward. "It's a traditional name in Johto—means clear day."

"Well we could use some of that out here," the ranger joked. "Maybe you'll be our good luck charm. I miss the sun out here. Oh, and I'm Feng."

"Feng. Nice to meet you. Maybe we'll see each other at a conference."

"Let's count on it," she said with a wink. She handed him back his trainer's license and his hand clenched around it tightly. "Let me see—weather is pretty much the usual, though we're expecting some serious thunderstorms starting mid-afternoon and running until late evening. Currently a ban on kecleon capture, until mating season ends. And I know you've heard this a hundred times, but bear with me. Poaching and dumping are national crimes under the Hoenn Revised Code, Section Eleven, Chapter Five. I'll need a verbal affirmation that you understand the law—"

"Yes," Haru said quickly, his heart suddenly thunder.

But the ranger didn't seem to hear. She continued, "Everything else you already know, but keep safe, and don't feel ashamed to use your emergency signal if you need to. Shit happens to the best of us."

Haru nodded, returned his license to his pocket, and stepped outside. The difference in atmosphere hit him instantly, the filtered air of the station giving way for the heavy, moist murk of Route 119. It was drizzling lightly, so Haru flipped up the hood of his raincoat. Methodically, he checked that his possessions were secure, making sure to place his pokedex in a rainproof case. He'd learned that lesson the hard way, when a sudden downpour had put the device out of commission. These preparations done, he stood still on the path, tasting the mist on his mouth and letting the pounding of his heart calm.

So what if the routine check had gone on longer than he'd have liked. It wasn't anything to be concerned about. She'd remember him as just another trainer, enjoying the route one last time, before his traveling days were over.

One last journey. One final obligation.

His hand clenched involuntarily around the single pokeball on his belt.

.

Haru set off at a brisk pace. There were roughly six miles to cover, and he had hoped to travel the bulk of the distance on the path, before the route became busy with trainers. Once he went off road, the going would be much slower.

His mind wandered as he walked. First, to an essay he'd written in elementary school. It had won second-place in some meaningless competition and his mother had framed it on the mantel. The opening lines of the essay, in his childish prose, looped insistently in his head. "Everyone always complains about the rules. But are rules bad?"

He was thinking about Erika. She'd received a promotion at her agency and had been completely off-the-wall ecstatic when she'd call him last night, alternating between boasting and chiding. "Just imagine where you'd be if you'd taken a job earlier. Experience counts, you know. Starting so late, you're going to see a salary drop of at least twenty-five percent compared to your peers. Maybe more." He couldn't have gotten a word in edgewise even if he'd wanted to. So he'd listened and nodded, while his decision sat like a stone in his stomach.

And every swirl and eddy of thought brought him back to that warm, Evergrande night. It had only been a week ago, but it might as well have been a year. He'd ducked into an afterparty at his friend's hotel suite, but the stuffy air and sour smell of beer hadn't felt like celebration—nor had it felt appropriate for loss.

His team had made it past the league's three qualifying stages and lost in the first round. In three weeks, his trainer's license would expire. His head still pounding from the party, he'd wandered down to the training grounds, where it was quiet. Even the most committed trainers were celebrating their victories that night; the losers were making the most of their defeats.

He'd arranged the last kindling from his backpack, doused it with starter, and lit a bonfire.

"So," he had said, his voice sounding small in the deserted training grounds, "I guess this is it."

The fire crackled, reflected in his pokemons' eyes—six pairs, so different, staring expectantly back at him.

In three weeks he would have to part with all but two of them. Nya-Nya, his delcatty, was considered a category three pokemon—permissible for recreational ownership. Damascus, his lileep, could also stay with him. The Mirage Tower Laboratory had a special license for fossil pokemon.

As for the rest—it was the Placement Center or the Daycare. He'd tried to explain as clearly as he could. If they went to the Placement Center, they could continue to battle. A place would be found for them on a professional trainer's team. Haru would be notified, of course. He promised he would watch every battle they competed in.

Aporea, his breloom, had raised her head at that, her dark eyes glinting brightly. She was a fighter—more of a fighter than Haru had ever been. He'd won his eight badges by dint of hard work, good strategy, and a fair bit of luck. The badges had been a useful accomplishment to point at when his parents complained that his future would be better served by quitting training and entering the workforce, but they had never been a passion. Aporea would do well with a professional trainer, someone who could bring out her full potential.

Perched on Aporea's head, Quannuk had slowly raised a wing and let out a short, piercing call.

"You too?" Haru had asked, looking his pelipper over. He'd never known why she had followed him from the beach as a young wingull, staying even after he'd shown her that he was out of bread crumbs. He met her impassive eyes, with their bisected blacks, and held back a shiver. There were some answers he'd never learn now.

"There's also the National Daycare," he told them. "It'll be a quieter life. A chance to raise a family, though—" He'd faltered as his tropius met his gaze, her amber eyes bright and questioning. "Your children may go to starting trainers, I think."

His probopass made a muffled, craggy sound, that Haru had long ago decided to interpret as a chuckle. "I guess that's not a problem for you, huh?" he said and Crado had bobbed up and down in evident approval.

"Stop me if I have this wrong," Haru said to the night. "Aporea, Quannuk, you want to keep on battling. Crado, you'd prefer the daycare. What about you, Heconilia?"

The silence stretched out until it was unbearably thin. Shouts and muted laughter rose from the Evergrande after-parties in the surrounding hotels. He held Heconilia's amber gaze until the campfire smoke made his eyes sting and water. "It's one or the other, you know, that's the law." He should have started this conversation earlier. The days suddenly felt so short. "You have to make a choice."

But she had let out a long trill and shook her head rapidly, until a single crescent fruit fell from around her neck with a dense thud. She nudged it towards him with her green crown. Underneath, her eyes were impossibly trusting.

_I want to go back home._

The smoke burned at his eyes and he rubbed them. The only one with a choice to make was him . . .

.

Haru sucked in a breath of moist, clean air and found his feet slowing.

The ranger's words rang in his mind. _Poaching and dumping are national crimes under the Hoenn Revised Code, Section Eleven, Chapter Five._

Haru understood the purpose of the law better than most people. Letting loose trained pokemon disrupted the ecological balance. Turf battles took place, habitats shifted, and the end result was the encroachment of pokemon on human lands—wurmple devastating harvests and zubat upsetting radio transmissions. The rules were there for a reason.

He didn't need to risk this. He could still turn around, tell the ranger he had a pokemon to place and leave it to the system. He could walk away now with his prospects still intact.

If his parents had any idea what he was contemplating . . . he could see the apoplectic red rising on his father's face and the way his mother's eyes would harden into tight black coals. They hadn't uprooted themselves to Hoenn to see him throw away his future.

An internship at Mirage Tower Station. If he worked hard and kept his head down, they would take him on as a lab technician. After three years, hopefully no more than five, he would begin to conduct his own experiments. One solid breakthrough, one strong paper, and he could lead his own team of researchers. That had always been his dream.

Haru's hand crept to the feather pendant around his neck. Ho-Oh's charm.

"Help me, ancestors," he whispered.

The rain picked up around him, a slow, light patter that made the air into a continuous murmur. Through the fall of the water, he thought he could hear an aged, rasping voice. His grandmother's voice. He closed his eyes, straining to pick out her words from the rainfall.

_**Then Ho-Oh beheld the mighty deeds these three spirits had rendered him;**_

_**And he was pleased and spake, Loyal servants, your service has been good;**_

_**Then Raikou went up to the Heavens, where he dwelled close to the life-bringer;**_

_**Entei entered the heart of a great mountain, for he was tired and sought rest;**_

_**But Suicune ran along the white caps of the waves and, like unbidden wind, she was free.**_

_Free._

The final word hung in the air like a judgment.

He was back in her reading room, perched attentively on his knees as Grandmother recited from the Golden Book. The tapestries on the wall were threadbare, but brilliant. Every spring Grandmother laid them out and worked them carefully with a clean white towel. There was something magical about the process, Haru had always thought. Grandmother labored with a quiet, intense concentration, as if history itself would topple if the dyes chanced to blur.

How many times had he heard Grandmother recite that same verse? But the words took on new, grave meaning now. Ho-oh had granted freedom to his most able servants. If Heconilia undertook Suicune's choice, Haru had no right to refuse her.

A particularly large droplet of rain fell and burst on Haru's closed eyelid. He opened his eyes, blinking through the wetness. Erika would laugh at him if he ever tried to explain this—"So logical," she would say, shaking her head, "right up until the end. Superstition gets you every time, little brother."

But she had never liked to listen when Grandmother told the old stories. She had never sat still while Grandmother explained the duty that still bound them, as descendants of the ancient priestly order. She had never cared to take in the magic of the old tapestries, renewed with every season, woven dense with obligation.

Haru tightened the hood of his slicker as the rain intensified. He unlatched Heconilia's pokeball from his belt and held it for a moment, as the surface grew slippery from the rainwater.

No, there was no choice here—only duty.

With his other hand, he pulled out his nav. "Open area map."

On his screen, the geocashed marker where he'd captured Heconilia glowed a bright green. It was less than a mile off now, to his left, far into the canopy that rose up from the road.

Haru double-checked that the waterproof coverings over his legs left no gaps and glanced at the screen of his nav, glowing like a beacon in the gloom. _9am_. The day was coming on quickly. Soon, the road would be swarming.

He needed to stop wasting time.

Haru pushed off into the wet undergrowth, which curved over his head, into the taller trees that formed a dark canopy. Only scattered streaks of gray morning light passed through. The rain was falling more heavily now. Water pooled in the imprints his boots left on the road.

As the rain poured down, the mud bubbled up and ran, until even those traces were gone.


	2. The Consequence

**Chapter Two - The Consequence**

* * *

After two hours of slow, uneasy travel, Heconilia lifted her head and let loose a joyful trill. Haru squelched to a stop.

"You've caught the scent of a herd?" he asked, tilting his head up. The sky was almost completely blocked by the dark green canopy overhead and he couldn't make out anything over the steady drumbeat of the rain.

Heconilia nodded energetically, her eyes shining. She looked healthy and vigorous—the humid air had lent her leaves an especially verdant sheen. Her good mood had been impossible to ignore the last few hours, as she swung her neck from side to side and sniffed at every flower.

Haru couldn't fault Heconilia for her happiness. But it came in painful contrast to the constricted feeling in his own chest, the sensation that every step drew a noose tighter around his neck.

"Okay," Haru said slowly, as Heconilia craned her head upwards, her wings lifting slightly like she was considering taking off then and there. "We need to go over the rules now." He snapped his fingers and raised his voice. "Heconilia, I need you to pay attention."

Chastened, she lowered her neck and butted her head forward, twisting so that the ring of fruit under her neck hung in front of his face. An apology.

Haru let out a breath. "I just need you to listen," he said softly. "I could get in big trouble if you don't listen."

Heconilia made a keening murmur of agreement. Haru closed his eyes and pressed his forehead against the sleek, springy surface of her neck.

"You're stronger than a wild tropius would be from all the training we've done. I know you'll want to show that off—impress a mate, take command of a herd. But you have to watch yourself. If the rangers notice anything unusual about you, they'll bring you in for an examination. And when they do, they'll find a microchip, saying you're my pokemon. If that happens, it's all over for me. Dumping is a national crime. So you can't draw attention to yourself and you can't let yourself be caught, no matter what happens. Do you understand?"

Haru felt the rumble of Heconilia's agreement. He took a step back and looked her over. How much did she understand, really? How much could a pokemon ever comprehend of the rules and regulations that were the cogs and gears of human society?

He'd read a study recently claiming to categorically disprove the notion that non-psychic pokemon could access abstract thought. But the methodology had seemed sketchy to Haru. He couldn't know, so he would have to put his trust in Heconilia—and in luck, the most fickle blessing of Ho-Oh.

Haru forced himself to smile. Heconilia had been with him for six years now. If this was their last hour together, he didn't want to spend it fretting over things outside his control.

"Lead on, then," he said, injecting his voice with cheer. "Let's find you your herd."

They pressed on for a quarter hour more. Rotting pomeg berries littered the ground. Their sweet, pungent scent mixed unpleasantly with the damp odor of decomposing leaves.

At frequent intervals, Heconilia raised her head and let out a series of high, trilling calls. Haru couldn't catch any response, but Heconilia seemed pleased, picking her path forward without hesitation.

They were passing into a small clearing when a shrill screech cut the air, setting Haru's ears ringing. Heconilia reared up and then staggered. She snapped her head from side to side, sharp-edged leaves rising around her.

Haru squinted through the rain, trying to understand where the sudden attack had come from. His eyes caught onto a yellow streak darting through the air, too fast for the eye to follow.

_A ninjask. What in the world . . ?_

"Calm down and use whirlwind," Haru called out. Heconilia stilled, and then began to beat her wings, wind gathering around her. As the ninjask darted in, the air current grabbed it up and trapped it in a tight vortex.

Haru ran to her side, startled and bewildered. This wasn't ninjask habitat at all—the area was far too rainy to support a pokemon that thrived in zero precipitation climes.

"Ah man, you gotta be kidding me!"

The exclamation came from behind Haru. Heart thudding, he turned around to see a bedraggled boy in a sopping a purple hoody trudging over. His dark hair, shaped in a fashionable Hoennese bowl cup, was plastered to his forehead.

"Can't believe I've been chasing a trainer's pokemon all this way," the boy said with a scowl. He looked Haru up and down. "You heading to Fortree for a badge?" he asked.

"No," Haru said. He looked over to Heconilia. "That's enough, let it go."

The ninjask leapt back into the air to hover at the boy's side. It was barely beating its wings fast enough to keep the water off.

"This is hardly the weather for a ninjask," Haru said. His bafflement from the sudden attack was fading, leaving only irritation rising in its wake.

The boy shrugged. "Stinger can fly. How many badges do you have?"

"Eight," Haru said curtly.

This at last won him a considering look. "Eight? Really?" His eyes drifted dubiously to the single pokeball on Haru's belt. He had already dropped off the others. "I've got six. Beat Winona last week. Hey, let's have a battle!"

Haru looked up at the ninjask, which had sunk even lower in the air, wings still buzzing industriously, and back to the boy, who was kicking some mud off his feet. "No thanks," he said politely.

The boy scowled. "What? Come on. Don't be a scaredy-skitty. You got something better to do?"

Had he ever been this rude? It was possible, but Haru didn't think it was likely. Grandmother had taught him better than that.

"What are you even doing off-route?" Haru asked, deciding that the boy's remark didn't deserve a response. "You're not dressed for it."

"I'm gonna get me a tropius," the boy declared. "It's just what I need for badge number seven. Plus, I heard the fruit's super tasty. Nothing like having an on-call snack machine, I figure."

With a frown, Haru looked over at the sweet yellow fruit hanging under Heconilia's neck. There had been a few occasions when she'd offered it to him, and the taste had been truly special—subtle, fragrantly sweet with a dense, pulpy texture. He couldn't imagine referring to it as a convenience snack or acting like he had some _right _to eat it.

"Well you're out of luck," Haru said shortly. "Shouldn't you get back on-route before you come down with something?"

"I'm good," the boy said, as fat droplets of rain rolled down his face. "So you've got eight badges? Have you competed in the league?"

"Yes," Haru said again, not wanting to elaborate. Heconilia was beginning to stamp her feet impatiently. "It was nice to meet you," he added, sure that he had never spoken those words with less sincerity in his life. "But we've got to be on our way."

Without waiting for an answer, Haru stepped up to Heconilia's side and followed her lead back under the canopy. The partial cover from the rain came as a relief. Even with full waterproof coverage, the water was still managing to seep into his clothes. He could hear his heart thudding over the drumbeat of rain against the canopy as he paused to collect himself. All his caution and he'd still been spotted. What were the odds of running into another trainer all the way out here?

Heconilia stopped abruptly and wheeled around with a gust attack that made the vines behind them bend and sway. The boy in the purple hoody stumbled out from the foliage. His ninjask was perched precariously on his head.

"Are you following us?" Haru asked in disbelief.

The boy crossed his arms. "Figured all that noise from your tropius might attract some more of them." His eyes narrowed. "Is that a problem? You headed somewhere special?" The thought of a secret seemed to excite him. He brushed back his wet bangs, eyes gleaming.

"No," Haru said, his heart sinking. "Nowhere special." His mind worked frantically. Should he tell the boy to stop following him? That would probably just make him more persistent. But with him here, there was no way Heconilia could covertly join a herd.

"We have to lose him," he whispered to Heconilia, who inclined her head in agreement.

They set off again, faster this time, Haru's feet sinking into the muddy earth with new urgency. He steered Heconilia into the thickest clumps of undergrowth, where visibility vanished, but each time they broke into a clearing, the boy appeared behind them, like an extremely sopping specter.

Haru's breath was coming fast and his skin was hot with tamped-down adrenaline. This ridiculous chase couldn't stretch on forever. He had to come up with _something_.

Ahead, the ground began to rise. He plunged onward, heading where the rise was steepest. The fallen leaves made the path treacherous. A few times he slipped and would have fallen, if Heconilia's wing hadn't been there to catch him.

All at once they emerged onto something of a peak, higher than the nearest layer of canopy. Haru turned and peered into the murky forest behind him. He couldn't see any movement. Ahead, he could make out the shape of a rock formation, the curved overhang seeming to promise cover from the rain. Dark shapes moved within it.

An excited trill broke out from Heconilia. She raced forward, her wings providing her with slight lift, and was halfway across the peak before Haru had taken a step. As Heconilia approached the formation, she left out another call, this one more complex. A wild tropius emerged from the formation and approached Heconilia cautiously. They exchanged soft trills and then Heconilia lifted her head, offering the fruit on her neck.

Tropius shared their fruit for many reasons. Heconilia was making a show of trust, submitting herself to the appraisal of the wild tropius.

Haru watched closely, unbothered by the rain, which was coming down in long sheets, no longer broken by the canopy.

The other tropius gently placed his mouth around the slender moon of Heconilia's fruit, and began to eat. _Acceptance_. More tropius emerged from the rock formation. They came out in twos, ringing Heconilia and the other tropius in a loose circle.

_Mating pairs_, Haru realized. That explained the group's small size and awkward shelter. They must have recently broken off from their home herd. The tropius who had come out of the cave first seemed to lack a mate. His trills were short and excited as he paced around Heconilia, who stood with her head raised proudly, showing off the sweep of her wings.

"Jackpot!"

Haru flinched violently at the exclamation. He hadn't noticed the boy in purple rounding the peak.

"A whole group of them. Man, this was worth the trip," the boy crowed. He hit the release mechanism on his pokeball and a mightyena appeared at his side.

"What are you doing?"

The boy looked over at him incredulously. "Uh, what do think? I'm making a capture."

"But you can't." Haru spoke without thinking.

"What do you mean, I can't. Do those look like kecleon to you?"

Haru pointed. "Look at how they're grouped in pairs. It's a young herd, entering mating season. The females may already be pregnant."

"Really?" The boy examined the herd with new interest. "Awesome. Maybe I can catch a breeding pair. My buddy Marve pays a mean price for rare eggs."

"That's illegal." Haru's breath was coming fast. "It's illegal to knowingly target a mating pair and it's illegal to sell eggs without a breeder's license."

The boy rolled his eyes. "Look, if it bothers you, then take a hike, will you? I gotta move before this herd scrams. Shadowsmith, use confuse ray!"

_Not a bad tactic_, Haru thought distantly, as if appraising a televised match, when the dazzling light rose into the air. Confuse ray wasn't a move commonly found among Route 119's local pokemon. A herd of wild tropius would have no frame of reference for combating the enticing play of light.

But Heconilia knew what she was seeing. She screeched out a harsh warning call and pushed her new companion to the ground. At Heconilia's call, the herd began to scatter in alarm. A few rose up into the air, though their flying grew lopsided as the ray's effects set in.

"Crap! Use your fury cutter, Stinger! Don't let them get away."

The bedraggled ninjask rose through the sleets of rain, wings beating at alarming speed. But it didn't get far. Heconilia's gust slammed it back to the ground.

The boy cursed again and threw out another pokeball. "Dumpster, acid!" A huge swallot drew itself up, spiting out a spray that crested in the dark air like a purple wave.

At Heconilia's trill, the herd drew together, the wind from their whipping wings cutting the wave and scattering it harmlessly.

_She's already taken control_, Haru realized. Without a single leadership battle, either. Despite everything, he couldn't help the warm glow of pride that rose in his chest.

The boy was staring straight at Heconilia, his eyes narrowed. "Use yawn on the one in the middle, Dumpster!" he shouted.

Haru opened his mouth to call out a warning. Then common sense caught him up. The boy didn't seem to have realized that the tropius he'd seen by Haru's side and the tropius leading this herd were one and the same. If he gave a command, there would be no hiding the fact that Heconilia was his.

He had to let this encounter play out.

The swallot belched a clear bubble, which rose inexorably towards Heconilia. She wasn't looking in their direction, her efforts focused on downing the flitting ninjask. She didn't see the attack coming. She wouldn't be able to stop it.

"Dodge!"

The shout broke from his lips before he could think.

Heconilia's head darted up and her eyes moved frantically. The soporific bubble of gas had no color and no texture that could be distinguished from the sheets of rain. Heconilia saw nothing, but she trustingly heaved her body to the side.

The bubble burst against her companion's face.

"What the hell are you playing at!" the boy shouted. His angry eyes met Haru's. "Shadowsmith, use shadow-ball, now!"

When the smoke cleared, the tropius herd appeared mostly unharmed, except for the tropius who had first greeted Heconilia. He was slumped on the muddy ground. Asleep, Haru knew. Trapped in the deep, artificial sleep of a yawn attack. But Heconilia didn't know that. She nudged him with her crown and, when he didn't respond, she let out an ugly cry.

Leaves began to gather in a tight spiral around her, each one glowing an unearthly silver. The other tropius followed her cue. The leaf storm built slowly, on a magnitude Haru had never seen before.

"Fury cutter, acid spray, dark pulse," the boy shouted, his voice high and panicked. The attacks came scattered. His ninjask hung too low in the air, on the verge of a faint. The increasingly violent rain washed away the swallot's acid in mid-air. A shadow ball was still building on the mighteyana's lips, when the storm broke.

The leaves shot forward, each one a dagger.

When the onslaught ended, the ninjask, swallot, and mightyena were slumped on the ground.

The boy swallowed, as every amber eye turned to fix on him. He stepped back, his hands falling to the pokeballs at at his side, and hissed something frantic at Haru, impossible to make out over the drumming rain. His eyes, meeting Haru's, were large and expectant.

"That's enough, Heconilia," Haru could say.

The words stuck in his throat.

They'd never made a formal goodbye. Her pokeball was still clasped on his belt. But the instant she had lowered her neck, offering her fruit to the wild tropius, Haru had known that she wasn't his pokemon any longer.

All of her choices were hers.

He stood, hands hanging limply by his side, as Heconilia reared up and unfurled one enormous wing to its full span. The air slash hit the boy squarely across his chest. He took a small step backwards, staggered, and hit the ground.

The rain pounded down like avenging thunder. Haru looked to the dark, roiling sky and back to the boy, sprawled out on the dirt. He didn't stir.

_And now, _Haru thought blankly. _What now?_


	3. The Flight

**Chapter Three - The Flight**

* * *

Haru's mind was a waterfall of rushing, roaring eddies, breaking in furious white.

The boy's mouth lolled slightly open, the rain-water trickling in. Haru grabbed him by his backpack and dragged him into the shelter of the rock formation. It wasn't difficult; the boy barely weighed anything, despite his sodden clothes.

Haru laid his ear against the boy's chest. All he could hear was his own heartbeat, pumping loudly. He put his finger against the pulse point on the boy's neck and closed his eyes. The skin there rose and fell, faintly, but unmistakably.

He looked over to the herd, who had regrouped on the peak, bent over the fallen tropius.

"He's just sleeping," Haru said, but the rain drowned out his voice. They weren't paying him much notice anyway, so he began to move, step by step, until he was at the edge of the cluster. Slipping between the tropius, Haru crouched under Heconilia's wide, protective wing and rooted around in his pack until he found an awakening. With his other hand, he pried open the tropius' mouth and squirted the potion in.

A happy murmur rose from the herd when the tropius blinked blearily and staggered to his feet. Heconilia stepped forward and gave him a hard nuzzle.

Ducking back in the shelter, Haru unclipped the pokeballs from the boy's belt and recalled his unconscious swallot and mightyena. He hesitated over the ninjask, which was eyeing him blearily from the muddy ground. Its wings were completely soaked through; it couldn't fly even if it wanted to. Recalling it into the pokeball now, the damp would fester, damaging the delicate tissue of its wings permanently.

Haru scooped the insect up in his arms, feeling the fragility of its husk-like body. Hunched to keep off the rain, Haru brought it into the dry cave and placed it on the ground. Sitting down cross-legged, he watched the ninjask flutter its wings, attempting to shake off the accumulated moisture. Haru pulled his portable space heater from his pack and switched it on high. The ninjask chittered questioningly and then crawled closer to the heat.

_Up and down, up and down_. The boy was breathing, Haru was sure now. But he hadn't stirred from his position slumped against the cave wall.

And when he did stir, what then?

Even an idiot could put two and two together. The boy had come across Haru in the company of a tropius. Then he'd witnessed Haru giving a command to a tropius leading a wild herd.

A burst of anger wriggled through Haru like a worm. _He shouldn't have followed me. He shouldn't have tried to attack the herd. If he had just . . ._

But there were no ifs. Every thread of fate spun out: thin, bright, and utterly immutable.

Haru poked lightly through the boy's sopping clothing and found a shorted-out pokedex and a pokenav on the fritz. Haru rubbed it dry against his shirt. The boy's pack mostly contained snack food and cup noodles, mixed with an assortment of potions. There was a spare set of clothes at the bottom, but no tent. It wasn't the pack of someone who planned to spend a night out in the wild.

The rain was lessening. He didn't notice at first: there was something about the rain out here that made you believe it would go on forever. But the drumbeat gradually softened and then subsided to a trickle.

Haru was still sitting, staring blankly at the orange light of the space heater, when Heconilia nudged him hard in the side. Her eyes were bright and calm now, like she'd come to a decision. She trilled a long, melancholy note.

"Time for you to go, huh," Haru said. His voice felt unbearably small.

Heconilia trilled again. This time she seemed concerned.

"I'll be fine," Haru said reflexively. Then he looked around at the cramped, makeshift shelter of the rock formation and the unconscious boy. "I'll take care of it, don't worry, Heconilia." He smiled, though the contortion felt tight and strange. "I'm happy for you," he said.

Heconilia pressed her face against his one last time. She smelled like the rain forest. Then she ducked outside, where the other tropius were gathered, stretching their wings to soak in the emerging sunlight.

The tropius that Haru had come to think of as Heconilia's mate came to her side. After a moment of silent conference, Heconilia trilled, and the herd lifted into the air. Clustered together, they looked like a small forest taking flight.

With their absence, the peak seemed bare and mysterious. Haru stared out at the clumps of dark foliage, almost expecting another person to suddenly emerge, as the boy had done. But everything remained still and quiet, as the sun crept over the undergrowth.

_Bzzzzt, bzzzt._

The buzz of the ninjask's wings broke the silence. The thin, translucent membranes dried quickly under heat. Haru turned to find the small insect regarding him with curious red eyes.

"How do you feel?" Haru asked softly. The ninjask vibrated its wings experimentally and rose a few inches into the air. "Good."

He needed to get his thoughts together. He needed to think.

The boy was still lying inert— _the boy_. He didn't know his name. And the boy had never asked for Haru's name. That was crucial. Even if he reported what happened, no one would know who . . .

Except that ranger. Feng. She would remember his name and his eight badges.

Eight badges. He'd told the boy that.

Stupid, _stupid_.

How many trainers traveled Route 119 on the off-season with eight badges? How many male trainers, with— Haru didn't think his features were particularly distinctive. He was taller than most. He wore his dark hair long, in popular Johtoan style, but he doubted the boy would have noticed that through his rain slicker. He scrunched his face, mind aching to recall every single detail.

If he left now—

Haru drew in a short breath.

It was dangerous for a person to stay unconscious for very long. If Haru left now, the boy might not wake up.

Haru turned back to the boy's pack, dumping out its contents onto the rocky ground. Buried under a pack of Magmar Crisps, extra spicy, he found what he was looking for: the boy's emergency beacon. Haru patted his side. His own beacon was clipped firmly to his belt, there to be pressed in case of emergencies. It was arrogant to keep your beacon buried at the bottom of a backpack. It was stupid.

The boy's beacon was functional, at least. Haru turned it over and found a peeling label that read _Wei Luo_. Activating the beacon would immediately trigger an alarm in the two ranger stations on Route 119. A team would be sent out at once, riding swellow and skarmory. With the shower over, they would arrive quickly. How long would he have to get away? An hour? A half hour? _Less_?

He looked at his watch. Somehow it was already past noon. Time felt viscous, like something he was moving through.

Would it be better to stay until the rangers came and try to explain? He could lie . . . but when Wei woke up, the boy's story would contradict his and the rangers would know Haru's name. They would send out a patrol, find Heconilia.

No, better to be long gone.

The gurgle of his stomach broke the post-storm silence. Haru absently dug a power bar out from his pack. The sweet, nutty taste cleared his head a little.

He ducked out from the shelter and straightened to stand on the peak. With the sky temporarily clear, he could look out on to the rest of the rainforest, sweeping out in green weaves in all directions. He and Heconilia hadn't followed a straight path, especially in their final rush. According to his nav, he could cut out diagonally and hit the main road in a half hour, if he kept to a quick pace.

Haru placed the space heater back in his pack and checked the boy again, making sure his legs were slightly raised, and returned his pokeballs to his belt. He hesitated over the last pokeball. The ninjask was still watching him intently.

"You're all dry now, right?" Haru said. "Ready to go back in?"

As his finger edged towards the release mechanism, the ninjask moved, faster than his eye could follow, knocking the pokeball out of his hands.

Haru stared in confusion at the small yellow insect. It hadn't followed up with an attack.

"Don't worry," he said after a moment, unsure how the ninjask was interpreting his exit. "I'm going to get help for your trainer. He'll be fine. Would you rather stay outside your ball and wait?"

Haru couldn't see the harm in that. He picked up the fallen pokeball and placed it lightly on the ground next to the boy.

Then Haru swung his pack onto his shoulders. He removed the outer layer of the boy's beacon and pressed the large button in the center three times in quick succession. The beacon flashed red and let out a mechanical whine.

_Activated_. There wasn't another moment to waste.

Haru closed Wei's damp fingers around the beacon and stepped out from the cave. He double-checked the heading on his nav. As he began the steep descent down the peak, picking his steps with care between the slippery leaves, he heard a buzzing sound behind him_. The ninjask!_

Exasperated, Haru swung around. "You need to stay with your trainer!"

Intent red eyes met his own. "Ja-j-j-j," the insect chittered loudly. It buzzed forward and settled on Haru's head, small but strong pincers clamping onto his scalp.

Haru stood frozen. He could imagine the bustle at the ranger's station, the triangulation of the signal, the trained teams of swellow being harnessed.

"What are you doing? What do you want? I told you I can't stay."

Haru began to jog forward, hoping the motion would make the ninjask understand that Haru was not going back. But the ninjask clung firmly to his head, its back pincers tangling with his hair.

He was running now, his nav held out in front of him. The ground was exceedingly slippery from the rain, but it was easier going than it had been coming. His mind and body seemed attuned: his feet picked out the way without stumbling, swerving to avoid sudden obstacles, ducking beneath low-lying vines, and clearing treacherous roots. A cramp cut into his abdomen like a steel razor, but Haru ignored it. When he paused at last to catch his breath, it had been ten minutes. According to his nav, he had traveled 1.2 miles.

Haru reached up and pried the ninjask off his head.

"I'm not a pokemon trainer anymore," he told it, panting. "If you want to leave your old trainer, fine, but don't come with me."

But as he spoke, Haru realized his mistake. This ninjask wouldn't survive a sustained rainstorm on its own. And the insect pokemon wasn't built for long-term travel, only short, quick bursts of motion. If another storm came, it would not be able to make it safely out of the forest.

Haru's stomach twisted painfully. _How was it that at every turn he was trapped?_

The ninjask sat docile in his hands, watching him closely.

"You can stay with me until we are out of the rainforest," Haru said finally. "But no longer. Do you understand?"

It let out a loud cry and shot out of his arms, settling once more on his head. This time, the grip was not as uncomfortably tight.

"I'll take that as a yes," he muttered. Then he glanced up. Through a crack in the canopy, he could see the sky was darkening again. A droplet of water plunked into his eye. Route 119 never went long without rain.

Only another mile until he'd reach the road. His legs ached and his lungs were still burning, but that didn't matter. He had to press on.

His right hand, hanging by his side, brushed against Heconilia's pokeball.

_I should …I should really get rid of that. _

Haru glanced around once to confirm that he was alone. Then he dropped to his knees in front of a verdant patch of foliage and shoved the pokeball deep inside the moss. He looked over his shoulder again, feeling like a criminal disposing of a body.

The pokeball couldn't have weighed more than a few ounces, but Haru felt oddly light now that his belt was empty. He set off again at a jog more sustainable than his earlier sprint. Above, he could hear the rain picking up. But the crack of thunder made him pause.

The ranger had mentioned something about that. Thunderstorms in the late afternoon, hadn't she said? Bad weather always liked to make an early entrance.

A tug on his hair drew his attention to the ninjask. "You shouldn't be out in this rain," Haru realized. But the ninjask's pokeball was back with the boy. It was lying back there on the ground, of no use to anyone now. Haru's stomach twisted. "You'll have to get in my pack." He uncinched the protective outer cover and held it open. The ninjask seemed to understand: it didn't hesitate before shooting inside.

Haru's pack was well-made. It should stand up to the partial rain beginning to penetrate the canopy. Once he reached the road, there would be space to use an umbrella.

He hurried on, listening to the groan and crash of the storm developing overhead. Lightning was flashing every few seconds by the time he reached the road. The path was muddy and spotted with growing pools of water, but the lack of protruding roots and slippery leaves came as a relief. He set off, unfurling his umbrella. In the distance, he could make out other umbrellas. A few were heading towards him, but most were moving north towards Fortree Station, the nearest waypoint.

Haru slowed to a brisk walk as he neared the other umbrellas, trying to force his breathing to a steady rhythm. He wondered if the other travelers could sense something off about him. He was drenched, of course, but other than that, did he look out of the ordinary? They couldn't know just from looking at him what had happened over the last hour.

The wind was picking up. Haru grasped his umbrella tightly. Up ahead, another trainer did not—the wind picked their umbrella up and shot it up into the air like a bottle cork.

As Haru rounded the final bend to the northern ranger station, the route grew even more crowded with trainers seeking shelter from the thunderstorm. He swung through the revolving door to the station and found himself in a queue. Stowing his umbrella and pulling down the hood of his slicker, he took in large gulps of the filtered air, appreciating how perfectly _dry _everything was.

"Next!" the ranger shouted and Haru shuffled forward. "Any captured Pokémon to declare?" the ranger asked him, her eyes fixed on the growing line.

"No," Haru said, and then inspiration struck. "I'm not a trainer."

It wasn't a lie, not fully. Heconilia had been his last category one pokemon.

"Regional ID, please."

He pulled out the slim card, glad he'd taken the time last month to fill out the paperwork to request it. Then he hesitated. It would look odd, wouldn't it, to have a different ID listed going out from going in?

The ranger noticed his frown. "Is something wrong?" she said. "If you've lost your belongings in the storm, you'll have to fill out an LP-3."

"It's not that," Haru said quickly. "It's just—" He smiled sheepishly. "I've only just quit being a trainer. I realized I used my old trainer ID coming in. That's not a problem, is it?"

The ranger sighed. "Happens all the time. I suppose you thought you'd just wait for it to expire rather than closing it out properly? Give it here. And I'll need the regional ID too."

She shot another glance at the line behind him.

"Are you the only ranger on duty to handle all of this?" Haru asked.

"Not usually, no, but everyone else is out answering an SOS. Probably a false alarm, as usual, but what can you do? Especially with the thunderstorms coming on."

She was typing now and didn't see Haru's face go pale.

"Okay," she said after a moment. "Your Class B license is canceled. I've updated your information in our system with your regional ID."

"Thank you," Haru said effusively. He stepped quickly away from the desk as the ranger shouted, "NEXT!"

A broad smile broke across his face as he came out into the open air again. The rain dropped off after a few minutes of walking; Route 119's microclimate was extremely localized. After ten minutes he reached the pokemon center and had no trouble securing a small private room in the guest wing. Fortree didn't see many visitors on the off-season. Stripping off his wet clothes, he collapsed gratefully onto the thin, dry cot.

A plaintive cry from his pack made him sit up. He had completely forgotten about the ninjask.

Haru uncinched his pack and the yellow insect shot out to hover in the middle of the room. It began to explore its new surroundings. When it approached the window, Haru crawled over on the bed and flung the panel open. He expected the ninjask to dart out, but it only stared outside thoughtfully and then landed back on Haru's head.

"I told you already," Haru said. "You can't stick around with me. I'm not a trainer anymore."

The ninjask ignored this. After a moment, it let out a shrill cry that seemed to pierce the thin walls. Haru glanced around nervously. This wasn't the trainer wing. If someone made a noise complaint, he didn't know how he could explain the bug pokemon's presence. The ninjask didn't seem ready to quiet down anytime soon. Another cry made Haru flinch.

_What did it want?_ The window was still hanging open. If it was unhappy, nothing was stopping it from leaving. _Think,_ Haru told himself. _It's throwing a tantrum—why?_

Another slow breath and he had it.

"You're hungry, aren't you?"

The ninjask fell silent, buzzing expectantly over to Haru's pack. With a sigh, he got to his knees and began to rifle around. He hadn't brought any pokemunch for this trip, just some berries for Heconilia. There were a few still secure in their casing, but the ninjask eyed them unhappily.

Haru flipped open his pokedex and scrolled to the entry for ninjask. _Sap, of course_. He could probably grab a couple of honey packets from the cafeteria. The 'dex page also came with a set of physiognomy charts. Haru looked from the image to the ninjask's small pincers. "You're female, huh."

Hadn't the boy called her Stinger? Haru frowned. What a nonsensical nickname. Ninjask didn't even carry a sting.

"Do you mind if I call you Atalanta?" Haru said. "The name's from an old story, about a woman who gained the blessing of Suicune. They say she ran so swiftly no man, woman, or pokemon could match her."

He decided to take the ninjask's gurgle as approval. "I'm going to get you some food, Atalanta," he said, praying that she would keep quiet while she waited.

Besides the honey, he purchased a hearty meal for himself in the cafeteria, along with a glass of hot cider. He ate in his room, next to Atalanta, who sucked away happily at the honey, and listened to the far-off crash of thunder. Now that he was safely indoors, the rain sounded less like a drumbeat and more like an elaborate dance, like the stage shows his grandmother had taken him to see in Ecruteak. She had told him that the dancer's every step and turn held a particular meaning, for someone who knew how to interpret the signs. Maybe the rain was the same way.

He leaned back against the wall and shut his eyes to listen. At once, exhaustion beat down on him. Haru doubted he would need his sleeping spore tonight. Sleep was already lapping over him like rising water. In the drowsy lull between waking and sleep, he thought he caught a pattern to the rain dance. Then warm fatigue took over and he heard nothing.

.

The shrill ring of a pokenav woke him abruptly to darkness. Haru reached for his nav and raised it to his face. The device was dark.

The ringing didn't stop.

Haru followed the sound, stumbling over to the bathroom door, where his rain slicker was hung out to dry. There was a second pokenav in the right pocket.

_Wei's nav_.

He didn't remember taking it.

The ringing filled the small dark room, persistent and foreboding. Haru waited until the device rung itself out and then lifted it cautiously, like he was handling a feral pokemon. A message banner was flashed across the screen.

**Marve: hey**

**did u nab a tropus?**

Haru had heard that name before—Wei's buddy, who dealt in illegal eggs. He stared at the bright screen until its outline wavered before his sleep-bleary eyes. Navs could be traced. That was the important point. He had to dump it as soon as he could.

_An anonymous grinning face, bent over a nest._ The image followed him as he sank back into bed.

Seamlessly, speculation slipped into dream. Behind him, Heconilia cried long, desperate trills. He was standing on the roof of a vast canopy and the forest stretched out like a giant lake. Suicune watched him from the far bank.

"I've done everything I can," he told her.

She made no reply, but her fixed, heavy gaze didn't waver.

His voice shook as he said, "What more is there?"

"It will cost you."

The voice blew past him like a wind. Under him, the canopy swayed, as if shaken by a giant. A heavy mist was rising around them. Through it, he could just make out the dark outline of Suicune's body, her eyes glowing points of red.

He opened his mouth to respond, but the canopy under him had also turned to mist. _Cost_, the wind whispered, as he plummeted down, down, down . . .

The next morning, when he woke, the window hung ajar. The air that wafted in was cool and dry, like the breath of the North wind.


	4. The Waypoint

**Chapter 4 - The Waypoint**

* * *

The ring cut the dewy morning like the shriek of a ghost. Haru stopped short, his heart thudding, before common sense caught him up. Wei's nav was gone, soaked in the bathtub until the power shorted. He'd tossed it with his breakfast down the cafeteria dumpster.

Haru pulled his vibrating nav from his pocket: 10 am on a Sunday. It was time for the family conference call. He glanced around Route 121—Atalanta was happily occupied by a bunch of blooming flowers—and accepted the video call. His mother and sister were already on, both of them framed by the muted wallpaper of their company break-rooms.

"Your father can't join us today," Mother said at once. "He's in a meeting."

Haru just nodded. After everything that had happened yesterday, he didn't trust himself to sound normal. Luckily, Erika, who tended to be tactical in these matters, had saved the story of her promotion for the weekly call. Haru was able to listen quietly as Mom oohed and ahhed over every detail. It was easy to let Erika take the center stage —it tended to happen anyway, whether he wanted it to or not. Erika was the oldest, the success story. His parents had named her after the famous Kantonian gym leader who started a multinational perfume company, all ladylike delicacy and hard-headed business acumen. Haru wasn't sure he believed that names shaped destinies—but his parents seemed to have pulled it off with Erika.

Haru had been named at his grandmother's urging. She had wanted at least one traditional name preserved in the family. Her own father had been a Haru, and his father's father. "It may be that a Haru once knelt before Lord Ho-oh himself. So you must always cherish this name and act to bring honor upon everyone who has borne it before you."

"Well, Haru?"

The impatience in his mother's voice made his back stiffen. He must have tuned out a question.

"Excuse me, Mother, what was that?"

Mother and Erika exchanged an all-too-familiar glance. Haru privately called it the "Oh, Haru" glance. It had been cropping up with increasing regularity in the past year.

"Mother was asking whether you'd finished dropping off all your pokemon yet," Erika interjected. Mother hated to repeat herself.

"Yes. Heconilia was the last." The lie came out smoothly enough. But their attention was on him now.

"To some ranger program, you said?"

"That's right, Mother. Tropius don't do well outside their native habitats, so it was the best thing for her."

"It's taken some time, though. Where are you now?"

"Just outside Lilycove."

"And when does your internship begin?"

"In eight days." He was answering on automatic now, falling into the familiar rhyme of interrogation.

"Eight days? And you'll be able to make it to Mauville on time all the way from there? Not by foot, I hope."

"The Lilycove ferry goes direct to Slateport, and it takes less than a day from there. I'll rent a bike."

"Hmph. And that fossil pokemon of yours is taken care of?"

"Yes, she's already settled in at the lab."

"And what about you? Have you finalized your housing arrangements in Mauville?"

Haru blinked, thrown. Housing. He stared at the flashing red light of the video call, his mind gone completely blank.

"Wake up, Haru!" Mother said sharply. "You aren't a pokemon trainer anymore. You'll need an actual apartment to stay in. Mauville's housing is notoriously expensive. You should have been working on this last month. I thought you had been."

The rebuke hit Haru like a slap. What was the matter with him? Every year he'd attended the Hoenn league, he'd booked his room months in advance, refusing to trust the overflow lodgings or rough it in a tent while he competed. He had known giving up his trainer's license meant an end to free pokecenter lodging. But somehow, with everything, the pieces hadn't come together in his mind.

"You're right, Mother," he said quietly. "I'll figure something out."

Frustrated with himself, Haru fell silent as his sister spoke up hastily with an amusing story from her last staff meeting.

This fuzziness—this aimless, wild feeling—had to end. He would catch the next ferry out of Lilycove, Haru resolved. That would leave him a full week to devote to apartment hunting.

The call was drawing to a natural close, like a receding tide. Haru felt he had to make amends. "I should have time to make a stop at the Lilycove shopping center," he said. "Is there anything you want?"

Mother wanted her Ecruteak teas. Erika wanted some complicated battery pack from Unova. "They're the best value for money and of course they're impossible to get here, what with how Devon locks down the market—sorry, Mother, but you know it's true. You should be able to find them on the basement floor. Ask for the Zeno Mark VII pack, okay?"

Haru nodded.

"Oh, and Haru," said his mother, "Nya-Nya is doing quite well, by the way. She's a very docile pokemon. I've even started to take her out on errands with me and received several compliments on her behavior!"

Nya-Nya had had a hard time of it in the upper levels of competitive battling. She deserved some pampering and ease.

"I'm glad you two are getting on," Haru said with a smile. It felt odd, still stretched across his face, when the call ended. He picked his nav back up and switched over to the newsfeed.

Another wurmple outbreak. Some act of terrorism over in Johto.

Atlanta tugged impatiently at his hair. Haru glared up at the ninjask. "What are you in such a hurry for? I'm doing something important." Nothing about a death on Route 119. If something had gone wrong with Wei, it would have made the headlines, right? It would have been a story. If he saw nothing, that meant everything had gone fine.

Another painful tug. Haru set his nav down and plucked the insect pokemon off his head. "Do you want to know what I was doing? I was checking for news about your trainer. You know, your trainer?" Uncomprehending red eyes met his own. "Aren't you worried about him?"

Haru doubted the ninjask had understood what all the business with the emergency signals had been about. From her perspective, they'd left the boy slumped on the ground, still as a corpse.

"Aren't you worried about your trainer?" Haru tried again, shivering slightly as Atalanta's unblinking gaze didn't alter. When nincada evolved into ninjask, Haru knew, the lifeless husk they shed in the process animated into a new being.

Did ninjask even understand the concept of death?

The thought made him go cold. He stood quickly, cinching his pack. It was another two hour's brisk walk to Lilycove.

"Hey, you up for a quick battle?"

Haru's heart flipped. He wheeled around and saw a smiling trainer standing next to a bright-eyed zangoose.

_I'm not a trainer_ . . . would sound ridiculous when he had a ninjask buzzing over his head.

"Sorry, I'm a coordinator," he called back. His shoulders slumped with relief when the trainer simply nodded and kept walking, her zangoose at her heels. Around Lilycove coordinators were thick as wurmple. Still, he really had to deal with Atalanta.

Any metropolitan pokemon center would accept the ninjask for re-settlement. But their first action would be to scan for an identifying chip. Atalanta would register as Wei Luo's pokemon and Haru wouldn't be able to escape the questions.

Frustrated, Haru shook his head. A solution would suggest itself eventually. One had to.

.

Haru knew he was getting close to Lilycove when the fog began to thicken. Lilycove was on the sea and even in the summer months the fog crept deep inland, lingering through the afternoon.

Haru had visited Lilycove many times and the cobblestone streets of the city were wide, but he still felt uncertain as he traced his way to the mall. The fog hid the vast bulk of Lilycove's shopping center, so it was with surprise that he stopped a few yards away from the flashing lights of the entrance.

He hadn't met anyone in the streets; it was as if Lilycove's entire population was congregated within the mile-long shopping center. The lobby was hot with the press of bodies. Most people had the sense to keep their pokemon stowed, but a few flying-types soared overhead and an errant linoone was winding between shoppers' legs.

The import-tea store was where he remembered it, tucked in a rare quiet side-corner. The old woman who ran the shop didn't seem to alter with time. She was wearing a formal kimono in a deep shade of purple. A couple was browsing the shop, speaking loudly in Kalosan. The shopkeeper was ignoring them, but she gave Haru a small nod when he came in. He wasn't sure if she really recognized him or had just noted the Johtoan cut of his hair. He picked out a set of strong red teas for his mother and added in a small packet of sencha for himself.

Piloting on automatic, he took the elevator up and turned left, into 10ib Pack, the best value-for-money training goods store in Hoenn. Nothing there was high-end, but it worked reliably, a cut above the goods sold by street vendors, and far less expensive than league-sanctioned pokemarts. Entering, Haru had to step quickly to the side to avoid a girl racing by with her combusken. He stood still for a moment, thrown. What was he doing here? He had no training supplies to buy. He wasn't a trainer anymore.

Feeling off-balance, Haru hurried out of the store. His sister's battery pack would be on the lower levels. There were no walk-in stores down there, just stands where vendors hawked their goods. Haru passed racks of phones, good luck charms, and mechanical odds and ends. He didn't give any of it more than a quick glance. But when he caught a scruffy man hawking pokeballs for 1,200 apiece, Haru felt himself slowing in disbelief.

"1,200?" he said out loud. "That's insane."

The man smirked. "What do you mean? These are free." He emphasized the last word strangely.

Free. The slang rang the vaguest of bells. That meant . . . a pokeball without an identification number or tracker. The kind of pokeball a criminal used.

"Right," Haru managed. But he didn't walk quickly away as he would have once done. He was thinking about the ninjask. If he wanted to transport it on the ferry, it would be best if he had a pokeball.

"Do you sell pokeballs that work even if the pokemon already has an ID tag?"

The man stiffened at the question and subjected Haru to a sharp once-over. "You want a broken ball?"

Guessing that was the slang, Haru gave a short nod.

"That'll cost you more than this free merchandise, for sure. And I don't carry them, anyway. You can get in a lot of trouble doing that." He eyed Haru suspiciously. Who does he think I am? Some kind of undercover agent? Haru almost smiled. The dealer's speculations were likely far more glamorous than the reality of Haru's situation.

"Okay," Haru said. "I was just asking." It had been a stupid idea anyway.

"Wait." He looked back. The vendor met his gaze steadily. "I might know a guy. Interested?"

His backpack twitched.

"I'm interested," he answered despite himself.

.

Haru woke on Monday morning feeling queasy to his stomach. His window might as well have been a gray curtain for all he could see out of it. Lilycove, he reminded himself. Still Lilycove.

A small bowl of rice and a cup of sencha brewed in his single-serve teapot were all he felt he could hold down. He huddled in the corner of the cafeteria for the rest of the morning, scrolling through his newsfeed. At some point, the action became mechanic. The words blurred, sliding senselessly past.

At 9:37 he headed back to the shopping center. The difference from the weekend was stark; Haru took the escalator down to the basement level alone, feeling horribly exposed.

"You're early," the pokeball seller drawled when he caught sight of Haru. "He won't be. You should browse."

So Haru lost himself for a while between colored scarves that flew like flags and shelves of hand-carved icons. One caught his eye—a suicune carved from an albino wood, the eyes set with some red jewel. "Real ruby!" the seller burbled when she noticed him looking. Haru doubted that, but he threw down a few hundred poke and stuck the icon in his belt bag.

Past ten now. He circled back to the northwest section. A man who couldn't have been too many years older than Haru had joined the pokeball vendor. Hoenese, with his black hair jelled into stiff spikes. He was wearing an electric-blue trenchcoat made from some shiny vinyl material. When Haru approached, the pokeball vendor nudged him.

"You my client?" he called out, and Haru nodded. "Okay," the man said, pausing as a wide yawn split his face. "Broken ball, right? 20,000 yen."

Haru felt his jaw drop. "Don't be ridiculous," he managed after a moment. "5,000 is all I'm prepared to pay. Which is already generous."

"Don't lecture me on what's generous, Pretty-Boy," the man said. "What I'm selling, you're not gonna get anywhere else here, and you're gonna go through a lot more to get it, too. So don't mess with me. 20,000 or we don't have any deal."

20,000 was . . . far too much. He'd need that kind of money for rent once he reached Mauville. Haru shook his head and backed away.

"You're the one who's mistaken," he said quietly. "I don't need what you're selling. So take 10,000 or I'm leaving, and believe me, I won't be back."

The man met his eyes with a scowl. "You got it on you? In cash?"

"Yes," Haru said cautiously, glancing around to make sure they weren't completely alone. He didn't expect the two men to jump him, but he had no assurance that they wouldn't.

"Let me see."

Haru pulled out the wads of money jerkily and made a show of counting them. "Now you," he said, his voice steadier than his heart, which was speeding wildly.

"What?"

"I want to test your merchandise."

The man gave a shrug after a moment and produced a single pokeball. It didn't have any special markings; it just looked like a normal pokeball, a little scuffed. Haru uncinched his pack and held his hand over the opening to stop Atalanta from bursting out. "Hold still, okay?"

When he pressed the capture mechanism, the inside of the pack lit up with red light. The ball didn't even shake once before clicking shut. Haru let out a breath and handed the money over without speaking, his grip on the pokeball tight.

The man seemed much happier with the cash in his hand. He came over and gave Haru a slap on the back. "Nice doing business with you. If you ever need anything else, just ask around for Marve."

Haru must have made a sound. The man stepped back with a frown.

"I—I think I've heard of you," Haru said. "Is it true that you—trade in eggs?"

"Might be." The man narrowed his eyes and looked Haru over. "This isn't the place for that kind of talk, though. I'll be hanging around the Gyarados' Head tonight if you want to talk real business."

He left before Haru could answer, swallowed by the growing crowd. Haru stood still, staring at nothing.

"You mind budging along?" the pokeball seller said after a moment. "I've got merch to move, you know."

"Sorry," Haru said breathlessly. He started away at a brisk walk, his pace increasing as he approached the exit. When he stumbled out into the fresh, wet air he was almost running.

The ferry now, he told himself when he was back in his room. His belongings were packed and ready to go. But exhaustion had hit him like a hammer. He dropped back on his bed and fell into sleep with Atalanta's new pokeball clutched to his chest.

.

It was late afternoon when he finally set out for the ferry. The sky was beginning to tint orange as the sun sank into the sea. He felt groggy from the daytime nap, like his body was something separate from himself. He also felt strangely at ease. It was funny—Haru knew intellectually that both the purchase and possession of the pokeball that now held Atalanta were illegal. But he felt safer with the pokeball than he had felt without it.

When the grinning head of a gyarados loomed suddenly through the fog, Haru stopped short, his breath coming fast. Blinking, he registered that the gleaming fangs were plastic. The sinister red light of its eyes came from small electric bulbs.

Haru flinched when an arm slung around his shoulders, pressing down hard. A voice exclaimed into his ear, "Pretty-boy! You came."

Before Haru could say anything, Marve had already maneuvered him into the dark entrance of the bar. The bouncer gave them a quick, apathetic glance and waved them in without asking for ID.

The bar was cramped and badly-lit. In one corner a small stage was set off, in another, arcade games whizzed and glittered. Marve's bright blue trench coat glinted in the strobe light as he made his way over to the counter. Haru followed him slowly, feeling as if he had stumbled into a bad dream.

"Order whatever you want! It's on me—well, it's on you, really. It's your money I've been drinking," Marve said. He tipped back his head and laughed uproariously, as if he had just said something immensely funny.

"Sake," Haru answered automatically, but he grimaced when the bartender slammed down a golden can in front of him. He loved the slimly tapered neck of a traditional bottle. Sake in a can missed the whole point.

_But that was Hoenn for you_, Haru reflected, surprised by the bitterness of the thought.

"So," said Marve, knocking back something pink and strong-smelling. "You looking for a life of crime?"

Haru shook his head, staring at his canned sake. He felt strangely paralyzed, still lethargic from his daytime nap.

"Scared, huh?"

Haru shook his head again.

"Aw, you don't have to put on a brave face for me. I know your type. Bet you used to spend sleepless nights worrying you'd filled out a form wrong."

Marve grinned widely at Haru's expression. "Oh, I'm right. And then you grew up a bit, didn't you, started to take a look around. And you wondered, who's it all working for, and who's going to stop me? Well, I'll let you in on a secret, Pretty-boy." He leaned in uncomfortably close to Haru's face. Haru flinched at the puff of hot, alcohol-heavy breath that blew against his cheeks. "No one's gonna stop you. All that tauros-shit they feed you in school, about conservation and responsibility? Hah! Tauros-shit," he repeated with evident satisfaction. "It's not like any of them actually give a damn about pokemon. They just want people to follow the law, for pokemon to stick to their place. As long as you don't shake things up too much, the world's your clamperl, there to be prised open."

He was _drunk_.

Haru didn't have to sit here and listen to this, like a trapped dreamer. Nor did he have to justify himself to this glittering apparition. He stood, tossing down a 1,000 note, and left without looking back.

.

The ferry wasn't far. At the kiosk the woman told him the next ship would depart in 18 minutes. Haru bought himself a ticket and went into the inner lobby to wait. Inside, the floor was dark and so well-polished that he could make out his own reflection peering curiously up at him. The sight made him uneasy, so he looked out the window instead, at the gray expanse of sea.

Haru had grown up knowing the sky belonged to Ho-oh and the sea to Lugia. His grandmother thought it was tempting fate to take a ship and blasphemy to take an airplane. She'd refused to speak to his parents in the months after they'd flown to Hoenn. Maybe she'd have forgiven them in time, if she hadn't . . .

But it was useless to dwell on that. A horn blared, announcing that the ferry had docked. He hurried on board with a few other passengers, though it was clear that the ship was under capacity. The evening was an unpopular travel time: the chilly evening headwind chased everyone below deck.

Haru remained by the railing, staring out as the wind blew cold ocean spray into his face. The fog hid the place where the sky met the sea, leaving only an impenetrable grey shroud. After a few minutes, Haru turned to look back, but Lilycove's harbor was shrouded as well.

As if there was nothing behind him—nothing at all.


	5. The Safehouse

**Chapter Five - The Safehouse**

* * *

Mother had been right. Mauville City was _ridiculously_ expensive.

First, Haru had tried to find a room at a newly built apartment complex a few blocks from the pokecenter. The studio flats there were dourly minimalist, with stark white walls and bare concrete floors, but they were clean and private, which was all Haru needed. The realtor warned him that the wait-list was already long and they were selecting tenants 'holistically,' whatever that meant. She'd handed him a ten-page application—previous apartments, job history, income. But his eight badges had impressed her. She'd sent Haru off with a warm handshake and the promise that he'd hear back in no more than a week.

The price-tag, though, for that modest, dark little room . . . Haru doubted his research stipend would stretch that far.

He'd spent the rest of the day inquiring after other listings, but they were either already filled or even more expensive than the apartment building had been. Haru found himself half-heartedly wishing he'd been a little more social on his journey. He didn't know anyone in Mauville nearly well enough to suggest rooming together. Most of the kids in his cohort had dropped off from training after a few years—the remaining trainers had been focused on making it as pros, rocketing from tournament to tournament, and conversation with them was limited to discussion of the latest protein shake blends.

His feet aching from walking up and down the city and a headache brewing behind his temples, Haru retired to his bed at the pokecenter, trying not to think about how much the stay was costing him. After two hours readjusting his pillow and covers, he gave up and sent himself to sleep with the spore he'd collected from Aporea before dropping her off.

The next day's search wasn't any more fruitful. Evening was drawing on when Haru decided to take his chances with Mauville's lower level. The area had a reputation, but Haru did have a pokemon on him, if it came to that. He stowed Atalanta's pokeball in his jacket pocket and took the screechy lift down.

The contrast was obvious from the moment he stepped out into the streets. The pavement was smeared with oil and dirt, and tents lined the avenue. People were arrayed on the sidewalk—some sitting on crates, others sprawled out on dirty piles of bedding. A few eyes followed Haru as he made his way down the street, unfocused and apathetic. One man approached Haru to ask for money in a hoarse, quiet voice. When Haru shook his head no, the man went back to sitting on his torn quilt without another word. Haru found himself speeding up, though not out of fear. The place seemed more depressing than dangerous.

_Anyone who talked about the prosperity of Mauville City should spend some more time down here_, Haru thought, averting his eyes as he passed a man defecating on the street.

A few blocks out from the address on the listing, a familiar scent made Haru pause—the smoky, fragrant burn of incense. The scent wafted from a small doorway, set off from the street with nothing more than a faded lavender hanging. The building had no sign announcing its function, though its outer wall was covered by a smeared, amateurish mural, depicting a mixed panoply of mythic pokemon.

Haru hesitated for a moment and then pushed the curtain aside. He stood blinking as his eyes adjusted to the dark. The room inside was lit, but only just, by a few scattered candles and some hanging lamps that emitted dim, yellow light. The carpet was lush and thick, layered with mismatched mats and pillows. Shrines were crammed together along the sides of the room. Haru could make out the rainbow feather of Ho-oh, the double helix strand of Mew, and icons of other gods he didn't recognize. The room was mostly empty, but not deserted. As his eyes adjusted, Haru made out figures spread throughout the room, in various states of prayer. The silence was broken only by the occasional whisper of verse or scattered yawn.

A house of prayer. It had been a long time since Haru had been inside one.

He picked his way forward slowly, trying not to trip on the wayward corners of prayer mats, over to the emblem of the rainbow feather and bent to examine the shrine beneath it. The candles were stubs, but they were braided from red, green and white wax. At the center of the shrine a greening copper plate held a sweet-smelling loaf, its crust glazed gold from brushed egg. Haru sniffed the cup to its left and felt his nostrils flare at the powerful, vinegary smell of fermented rice-wine. Something unclenched in his chest. The shrine wasn't beautiful or costly, but it was _correct_. It was respectful, for all its poverty.

Prostrating himself on the prayer mat, Haru began to work through the traditional blessings. He gave thanks for bread and wine, for sunlight and water. He thanked the evening for ending and the darkness for passing. Halfway through, Haru realized that he had defaulted to the longer version, the priest's version that Grandmother used to insist on.

The prayer for the dead came last. _Look to the second sun that waits behind the rainbow. There dwells Ho-oh, Life-Bringer . . ._

When he had finished, Haru didn't rise. The room was pleasantly warm and the sweet, smoky perfume of the incense reminded him of the long afternoons he'd spent in the Ecruteak temple as a child, in a stupor that wasn't quite sleep.

Haru's mind had been blank as he prayed. Grandmother always said that a true prayer demanded nothing from Lord Ho-oh and everything from one's self. With an uneasy twinge, Haru realized that he hadn't brought anything to offer on the shrine, not even simple buns.

Fumbling for a moment through his belt bag, Haru's fingers closed around the wood carving he'd purchased in Lilycove. That was something. What better way to praise Ho-oh than to offer back an emulation of his handiwork? Haru placed the carving gently on the shrine, where the candlelight caught on the figurine's red eyes, making them flash and dance.

"'Scuse me."

The voice made Haru start. He hadn't noticed anyone coming up beside him.

"No disrespect—I don't want to interrupt your prayer."

"That's all right," Haru said. His voice sounded odd, as if it had been pulled from a long way away. "I was finished."

"We don't get too many people at the Ho-Oh shrine. But you're a Johto boy, huh?"

Haru twisted around to face the person addressing him. It was hard to make out her features in the dim light—her skin was very dark.

"That's right."

"I'm from the Sevi Islands, off of Kanto. Grew up putting out milk for Mew." She smiled, her teeth flashing white. "Here, the milk's not so good, but I don't think She holds it against me. I'm Maliki."

"Haru," he said. Instead of holding out his hand, he brought his fist over his chest and made her a seated bow.

His reward was a delighted laugh, loud against the muffled stillness of the prayer room. Haru glanced around hastily, but none of the other worshipers seemed bothered.

"I haven't seen you before. Do you live in the city? Or are you just passing on through?"

"I'll be settling here," Haru said. He huffed an awkward laugh. "As soon as I can find a place to rent, that is."

The woman looked at him carefully. "I usually wouldn't ask a stranger, but I get a good vibe from you. We have a shared place above the shrines, on the second floor. A bit crowded, but I promise you, no stealing, and everyone here minds their own business. We're proper worshipful types, too."

Haru's eyes widened. "What's the price point?"

"About 35,000 a month."

Haru's mind jumped to his bank account. That was less than half of what the apartment complex charged. His stipend could cover it easily—he could probably manage out of pocket for a couple of months even, if the payment came late.

Mother's litany of 'clarifying questions' bubbled up in his mind. Was there in-house laundry? Did the payment include utilities? Did the other tenants use drugs? Were pokemon allowed? Could he see the rooms?

But none of it came out. Instead, Haru said, "I'll take it."

Maliki's grin widened. "You trust your instincts too, huh? I knew we'd get along. You can move in anytime. Your berth will be the third room on the left. We mostly keep the place unlocked. Not much to steal, here, and anyone who tried would bring down the wrath of at least thirty gods."

"I've got about 10,000 on me," Haru said. "The rest I can get you by—"

She waved her hand dismissively. "Keep it, until you're sure this is the place for you. Saves hassle in the long run, don't you think? Friday evenings we always do a group dinner. If you want to meet the others, that's the best time. Try not to come empty-handed though. That wouldn't be a great start."

It all sounded so loose, Haru thought, as he ducked back out onto the street. He'd secured a room, but there had been no paperwork, no key, no money exchanging hands. Mother would be shocked if he told her he'd leased a room without seeing a contract first. But, Haru figured, promises made in a prayer room were probably as good as oaths.

He bought a cheap dinner at an alley-side ramen shop and returned to the pokecenter long enough to gather his belongings, close out his room, and withdraw his savings.

The room turned out to be small, little more than a futon stuffed in a closet, with a single window letting in weak light from the adjoining alley. But Haru didn't plan to spend much time here—his new job at the research station was sure to keep him busy from dawn until dusk. Painting his eyelids with sleep spore, Haru sank into deep, dreamless sleep.

.

He woke the next morning to the savory smell of something frying.

"Early riser, huh?" Maliki said, when he stumbled into the cramped galley kitchen. He could make out her features better now in the light of early morning. She had an ovular face, arched eyebrows and full lips. Her hair ran down her back like beads on a string, twisted into dark knobs. Something loose and orange was draped over her back, swaying as she slid sizzling nanab berries around in a pan. "Would you like some?"

"I couldn't." Haru already felt like a trespasser in this cramped space. The morning light had revealed the peeling red wallpaper and forgivingly dark brown color of the carpet. Everything here spoke to a poverty his family had never known.

"Sure you can," Maliki answered, in a voice that didn't brook argument. "I always make extra."

Haru sat down heavily on the rickety wood chair. He rested his hands on the table, then moved them to his belt bag, where Atalanta's pokeball was nestled. "I was meaning to ask. Are pokemon allowed here?"

"Allowed?" Maliki quirked an eyebrow. "Sure. I mean, be courteous, if you've got a muk or something."

"No, nothing like that."

She sat opposite him, setting down a plate for each of them. "You a trainer, then?"

"Ex-trainer," he answered quickly, hoping she'd fill in the rest herself. Plenty of ex-trainers kept a few Class C pokemon around.

"What do you do now?"

"I'm starting as an intern. Up on Route 111's lab."

"A researcher?" She eyed him with interest. "Do you follow Doctor Qian's work at all?"

Haru didn't know the name. He shook his head apologetically. "There's so much out there—I'm mostly focused on ecology."

"Too bad. Maybe I'll tell you about her work sometime, huh?"

She flashed a wide grin at that, as if something had struck her as funny.

"I'd like that." Haru dipped his head over his food. The nanab was sweet, the faint bitterness balanced by the crunchy edge. "Oh, I almost forgot. I have the rent for you."

Maliki waved her hand. "What did I say? Keep it until you're sure, okay? If it ends up not working out, it's no skin off my back to have put you up for a night or two."

Haru was struck by the suspicion that this generosity wasn't entirely for his benefit. Maliki wanted to see if he was the kind of person she and her flatmates wanted to keep around.

It had been a long time since Haru had needed to endear himself to anyone that way. For the last five years, his only company had been his pokemon. Other people were incidental, passed on the road, spoken to only on those long nights at the pokecenter when the storms shorted out all power. Haru had never needed to live with them or prove that he was someone worth living with.

Erika had told him he'd have to get used to pleasing other people—career advancement was a delicate balance between hard work, skill, and sucking up, she'd said. Which all sounded hideous. But Haru didn't mind the idea of proving himself to Maliki. Her impeccable hospitality deserved reciprocation.

He finished his meal in silence and insisted on doing the dishes, relieved when Maliki allowed it. She watched him for a moment, presumably to make sure he wasn't about to break anything, and then said, "Catch you later," disappearing down the dark hallway.

When the cleanup was finished, Haru set out westwards, towards Verdenturf. The cramped industrial buildings gave way to an open, floral landscape, brimming with berry trees. The fragrant air brought a smile to his face, though something about Route 117 nagged at him. The serene beauty was almost disturbing, coming directly from Mauville's lower levels. Haru glimpsed gardeners at work along the route, tending to berry trees, weeding flower patches. What society would put such care into creating beauty here, when there was such obvious ugliness and need only a short walk away?

Haru shook his head to banish the thought. Route 117, with its clean, temperate air and excess of flowers, was the perfect place for Atalanta. Taking shelter behind a dense berry thicket, Haru released the ninjask, who let out a pleased chirp. She buzzed into the air and began to flit from flower to flower, trembling with unmistakable joy.

Watching her, Haru felt a sudden rush of shame. He hadn't let her out once since purchasing the pokeball. He'd been so relieved to shut her away, he hadn't even considered it. Ever since Atalanta had chosen to follow him, Haru had been thinking of her as a problem, not a pokemon. She deserved better than that.

"You like it here, huh?" Haru called out. "What do you think about calling this your new home?"

Atalanta detached herself from a blossom and jetted back over to perch on his head, pincers clasping tight around his hair.

"Seriously, why not stay here? There's no reason to stick with me. You don't owe me anything."

Maybe Haru was imagining it—assigning meaning where there was none—but he heard skepticism in Atalanta's answering screech. Frowning, he pulled her from his head.

For the first time, Haru wondered what would have happened to Atalanta, if his path hadn't happened to cross with Wei's. Would her wings have survived that prolonged water exposure, the long walk back? Wei's cheap pack hadn't held any heating equipment. Atalanta's wings might have been disabled for life.

It was a painful thing to contemplate, as he watched her wings vibrate, their delicate, gauzy surface catching copper in the sunlight. A ninjask that couldn't fly couldn't live.

The original Atalanta, Haru remembered suddenly, had declared she would be no one's bride but Suicune's, in gratitude for the gift of speed Suicune had granted her. Atalanta had been the daughter of a powerful lord, promised to the prince of a rival kingdom. Her refusal to wed had drawn both nations into war. But history had not judged her harshly for it—Haru's teachers had always praised Atalanta as an exemplar of piety and sacred obligation.

"Whatever it is you think you owe me," Haru said slowly, picking his words with care, "I want you to make a life here. If I need you, I promise I'll come back and collect the debt."

Atalanta stared at him for a long moment, her red eyes intent. Then, in an abrupt motion, she shot into the air, lingering only a second before setting off between the berry trees. In one blink, she was a yellow speck in the distance.

Haru sank to the ground, floored by relief and a strange exhilaration. He'd guessed right. He'd _understood_. Nothing he'd ever read had suggested pokemon could understand the concept of debts. But how could a situation like this be replicated, anyway? Haru sat for a while, lost in the thought of potential experiments, but every idea seemed inadequate or deeply cruel.

At last he got to his feet, stowing the illegal pokeball in his bag. He regretted the expense now, but there was nothing to be done about it. Whatever he'd said, Haru didn't plan to be back. _This_ Atalanta's debt could expire in peace.

.

When Haru made his back into Mauville's downtown, it was already past noon. After fortifying himself with a quick lunch, Haru set himself to the task of shopping, picking up rice, ume, nori, eggs, sweet milk, and a square pan. As he waited in the endless check-out line, his conversation with Maliki that morning came back to him.

"Doctor Quian," Haru typed into his nav, but none of the results seemed right. Searching "Doctor Quian Mauville" brought up an article from a local newspaper, headlined **Local Researcher Raises Alarming Questions About Mauville's Power Plant**.

The body of the article was only a few slim paragraphs.

_Doctor Bai Quian, a local researcher, has released a __new study_ _exploring the impact that working at the Mauville Power Plant has on electric pokemon. She argues that the work, generally considered harmless, leaves these pokemon with long-term damage._

_In the study, Quian compares 100 wild electrike, magnemite, and voltorb with 100 pokemon of the same species that worked at the power plant, estimating the duration of their work from the data found in their ID chip. She measured these pokemon on a set of health metrics and found that the wild pokemon have, on average, lower stress levels, less instances of electrical degeneration disease, and longer life-spans of five to ten years._

_When asked what the public should take away from her research, Doctor Quian told Rewire, "I'm not prescribing policy. But I should think the logical consequence would be an immediate review of the working conditions in the power plant and the methods of voltage extraction."_

_A spokesperson for Mauville Power Plant stated in response to an email inquiry, "Mauville Power Plant is a testament to what people and pokemon can achieve by working together. The work is safe, rewarding, and mutually beneficial for all."_

Haru tried to open the link in the first sentence, but the page was defunct. Try as he might, Haru couldn't find the full study. Eventually he landed on an abstract of the paper, entitled "The Impact of High-Stress Voltage Extraction on Electric Pokemon." It was followed by a short peer review, criticizing the article for citing too few comparable fieldwork experiments.

It seemed to Haru that the author might have cited few comparable field experiments because there _were_ few comparable field experiments. Frowning, he shoved his nav back in his pocket and paid for his groceries.

There was a teenage boy prepping instant noodles when Haru made his way into the kitchen. The boy glanced up suspiciously and took off with his bowl before Haru could say hello. Charming his flatmates would have to wait, then. With a shrug, Haru measured out three cups of rice and began to wash the grains. Two hours later, the onigiri were ready. He wrapped them carefully and stowed them in the fridge for tomorrow evening.

When the kitchen darkened without another appearance of his flatmates, Haru decided to call it a night. Lying on his futon, he quickly skimmed his email. A message from Route 111's lab sat at the top of his inbox. A few friendly words, inviting him to stop by anytime to check on his cradily. Tomorrow, Haru decided. It would be good to scope the lab out before his internship officially began. And he missed Damascus.

Below that—

Haru swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry.

A message from the Ethics Commission, the league's chief regulatory body.

Haru's breath began to speed. He got messages from the Ethics Commission all the time: legal updates, reminders, even the occasional notice about government internship opportunities. It didn't mean anything had happened.

His breath was coming faster and faster, like Atalanta's beating wings.

He should just open it. It would be something normal, it would be something fine, and if his heart would just _stop pounding_—

Haru's hand closed around the jar of sleep spore. The bottle was already beginning to look empty at the top. He'd been using it too frequently these last few sleepless weeks. If anyone knew, they would have told him to stop. The consequences of medicating with the pokemon powders were still largely unknown.

Screwing the bottle open, Haru scooped up a generous dollop of sleep spore and smeared it over his eyes. The effect was instantaneous. With a light clatter, the poke-nav tumbled from his limp hand. Haru sank down into his futon, letting the artificial sleep wipe his mind clean.


	6. The Awakening

**Chapter Six - The Awakening**

* * *

The egg sizzled gently in the pan. Haru watched with drowsy eyes as the yolky mixture slowly firmed. He slid his spatula under and rolled it over. Sizzle. Roll. Repeat. Making tamagoyaki was soothing. Grandmother had made it whenever the weather turned rainy. She'd plop the yellow roll down on his plate, warm from the pan, and then he'd have to spend the next ten minutes cajoling her until the omelette was evenly split between them.

Haru seemed to have the kitchen all to himself this morning. It was past nine, and the others were probably off at work. Too bad. He had hoped to return Maliki's favor by making her some breakfast. Like he used to tell Grandmother, the sweet egg omelette was a little big for one.

Haru had never been much for constant conversation, but something about the emptiness of the kitchen suddenly struck him as unbearable. Even Atalanta's frenetic buzzing would have at least filled up the silence.

It would be good to see Damascus again. Spurred on by that thought, Haru showered and dressed. A half-hour later found him walking briskly up the dirt road towards the Mirage Desert laboratory. Haru knew he was getting close when his mouth dried out and his eyes began to sting. The arid weather here was definitely going to take getting used to.

The lab had a modern design, all white curves and wide glass windows. Haru wondered how expensive the upkeep was, what with the fierce desert winds and continual dust storms. Finding the door locked, Haru pressed the buzzer. Once. Twice. No answer. Just as he was holding it down for the third time, a gruff voice crackled, "Deliveries go round the back."

Haru cleared his throat. "Not a delivery, sir. My name's Haru Watanabe? I'm starting as an intern here on Monday. My cradily's already arrived and I heard it would be possible for me to check in on her briefly today."

Haru waited, shifting his weight from foot to foot as the intercom voice digested this. If they had been in person, he would have punctuated his introduction with a formal bow.

"Watanabe?" the voice finally rumbled. "Ah, yes."

Haru pushed when the door gave a buzz. The long entry hall was flanked by two alcoves crammed with hangers of protective suits and more everyday clothing stuffed in the back. The floor was coated with fine sand. Further in, Haru found a wide lobby, with a broad window that looked out on Mirage Desert. The day was calm and bright, and the desert seemed deceptively still, the flat, dark yellow sands stretching as far as the eye could see. But Haru knew that rock formations, pits, and crumbling towers lay out there as well, obscured for now by a trick of dust and light.

"A marvel, isn't it."

Haru jumped at the voice. He turned to find an older man—Galarian features, bushy orange mustache and balding hair—had come up behind him. The man stuck out his hand.

"Doctor Ogletree, head researcher."

Haru took the proffered hand uncertainly. Up and down they went, twice, before he was released. The doctor's grip was firm and slightly sweaty.

"Lab's empty today," he continued. "Everyone's out on expedition. Would have joined, but my damned lungs are acting up again. Follow me—"

Haru trailed after him, down a long corridor. The doors on either side were shut and the doctor was walking too quickly for Haru to read the nameplates.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Doctor. I enjoy your work," Haru added half-way down the corridor—extremely belatedly, he realized. He felt slow this morning, like he hadn't fully woken up.

The doctor glanced briefly back at him. "You're familiar with the despeciation problem, then?"

It sounded like a test. Luckily, Haru had never had a problem with those, even half-asleep. "Yes, Doctor. Simply put, Hoenn is growing less diverse on the level of species. It's not just that some species are on the verge of extinction, but that the rate of their long-term evolution seems to be slowing."

"Correct," the doctor said gruffly. "Now, how does one go about studying such a long-term phenomenon, when our own scientific records run back only a scant few centuries?" Doctor Ogletree plowed on before Haru could attempt an answer. The question had clearly been rhetorical.

"I study baltoy and claydol. The most fascinating pokemon, from a purely anthropological perspective. Uniquely, we have cave drawings of baltoy and claydol stretching back a millenia. And if you showed a child those drawings, and then showed them a modern baltoy, the kind you might encounter anywhere out there in the desert, they wouldn't hesitate to tell you these pokemon are one and the same. They have hardly altered at all across the many centuries. If we can understand the baltoy—the role they played in ancient civilizations, why they didn't evolve over time—we may find the answers to the national downturn in evolution patterns. Or as some call it, the despeciation problem. Is it normal variance, on a time scale greater than we have the current means to track, or a product of human action? This is by no means a simple question—as it is sometimes portrayed in the _popular media_. But what answers we can find will begin with the ancient, unchanged patterns of the baltoy."

Doctor Ogletree paused to draw in a breath. He'd halted in the middle of the corridor to deliver his impromptu speech. Clearing his throat, he resumed walking. A few minutes later, the corridor dead-ended at a thick door with a circular observation window.

"The Terrarium," Doctor Ogletree announced.

Stepping inside, Haru was hit at once by a rush of hot, dry air. He was standing in an enormous, high-roofed room. The walls on two sides and the ceiling itself were constructed out of glass, amplifying the heat of the mid-morning sun. The ground was all sand dune, interspersed here and there with patches of flowering succulents and prickly pear. Rock formations lay scattered across the sands and in the distance light glinted off a small oasis. Looking closer, Haru spotted the telltale signs of trapinch digs and caught the buzz of vibrava somewhere out of sight. Several sandshrew were sunbathing on the closest slab of rock, seeming content to ignore the intrusion.

"The cradily keep close to the oasis," Doctor Ogletree said. He made his way heavily through the sand. Haru followed, stopping occasionally to stare at a particularly intricate succulent, or the red flash of a baltoy spinning by. He couldn't begin to imagine the cost of maintaining such an impressive space. Safe to say, this research center was well-funded. He wouldn't have to worry about his stipend being delayed.

A few lileep peeped up their heads as they neared the oasis.

"Damascus?" Haru called out. A high whine sounded from behind a thick outgrowth of cacti. An instant later, a familiar green head poked out.

Haru smiled as the pokemon inched closer, reaching out to feel his face with one sensitive pink tendril. Satisfied by whatever information the examination had conveyed, Damascus let out another whine, this one pleased.

Damascus herself wasn't a fossil resurrection. She'd come from a breeding colony, a decades long attempt to build back up the lileep and cradily population in the Mirage Desert. Species restoration was very trendy these days, in popular media as well as the scientific world—restoring Hoenn's ancient glory, people said. As the colony stabilized and became more well-known, they'd announced a fellowship-contest—a few lucky trainers would be selected to travel with a lileep, logging its daily habits and growth. When he'd caught wind of that, Haru had thrown up training for his gym battle and spent the rest of the week locked in his cramped pokecenter room, laboring over his essay submission. The work had paid off: he'd been one of only seven trainees chosen. The months that had followed, diligently logging his lileep's diet, emotive responses and battling progress were the first time he'd seriously considered a career in research. And the fellowship was probably what had made the difference for him in landing this internship.

"How're things treating you here, Damascus?" Haru asked softly. Her tendrils retracted and widened, a sign of contentment. One reached out to trail questioningly up his face. _And you?_

Haru swallowed, staring down at the yellow swirls on the cradily's face. They weren't actually eyes, only their simulacrum. Cradily lived in a world of sound vibrations and touch sense. So she felt the tension in his jaw as he struggled to form an answer. Damascus, with her solemn way of listening, would have made the perfect confidant. But Professor Ogletree was standing just meters away, observing their interaction. Haru couldn't say anything that was on his mind.

"I'm good," he said aloud, for the professor's benefit. Even if she recognized the sound-patterns, Damascus was unlikely to believe him. "After all, I'm here. Do you miss battling, Damascus?"

The cradily considered this, her tendril wavering. At last she raised her right tendrils up and lowered her left tendrils down. Haru huffed a low laugh, recognizing Damascus' imitation of a human shrug.

"Take it or leave it, huh? Same for me."

Damascus extended a second set of tendrils to roam his body. Haru knew she was checking him for injury, attempting to locate the root of his distress. He hoped Doctor Ogletree knew less about the behavior patterns of cradily than he did about baltoy.

"This terrarium is amazing," Haru said to the head researcher, before he could comment on Damascus' actions. "How many cradily are here?"

"Just yours at the moment. They're a tad large for the space. When the lileep evolve we send them out to the colony."

"Would you like to go to the colony?" Haru asked Damascus. "Maybe you could find a mate there, just like—"

_Heconilia_. He clamped his mouth shut before the word could escape. Heconilia wasn't supposed to have a mate.

The silence hung awkwardly. Damascus' tendrils were now latched on to each of Haru's pulse points.

"How big is the colony now?" Haru pressed on desperately, turning back to Doctor Ogletree, who shrugged.

"Big and growing bigger. That's Bingqing's project, though, you'd have to ask her. Very admirable, I'm sure, and of course, the physiological knowledge can't hurt, but for anyone with an interest in social conditions the setup is completely untenable. Far too many external factors." He huffed in a breath, clearly irritated at the thought. "There, you've seen your cradily now. I do have work to do, I'm afraid—can't babysit all day."

Haru fought back a rush of indignation at the word 'babysit.' This man was the head of research, possibly the most important person in the entire station. He probably wasn't accustomed to spending his time with interns. And though Haru considered himself a careful person, he hadn't had a lab orientation yet. He could see why the doctor didn't want to risk him wandering alone, near all the expensive equipment.

"Of course, Doctor, thank you for your time," Haru said. He gently unlatched Damascus' tendrils from his body, wincing at the cradily's confused whine. "I'll see you again soon, Damascus."

.

Evening found Haru sitting awkwardly on a lumpy pillow. When Maliki had mentioned a Friday night dinner, he'd pictured something intimate—the housemates squeezed around a table, getting to know each other.

Instead, Maliki had led him down from the kitchen to the shrine room, where a long table was groaning with a mismatched assortment of food. Haru had quietly set down the plum-stuffed onigiri he'd made on one end. There were at least twenty people gathered in the room, of all ages and nationalities. Some had drawn into clusters, laughing loudly together as they ate. Others, like Haru, kept their distance. They sat around the room, withdrawn and silent, as if they were waiting for something.

Haru found out what when Maliki and a few others dragged some prayer mats together at the center of the room to fashion a makeshift stage. The conversation fell off as Maliki stepped up, a microphone in her hand.

"Thanks everyone, for making it out here." The microphone gave her voice a low, resonant quality. "For taking that time. I know it's not much, but I think it's really important to get together like this, where we can meet eyes like human beings, and hear each other speak from the heart. I hope to hear from everyone tonight, but I'll start us off, if that's all right with folks."

An unorganized murmur of assent rose from the crowd.

"My name's Maliki. When I was just a little thing, my mam and pap took me out to the edge of our lands. And together we laid down a bowl of milk, fresh from the udder. 'That's for Mew,' my mam said, so I asked her, 'What's Mew?' 'Mew's the one we all come from,' Mam said. So I say, 'Mam, if Mew made us all, why does she need our milk? Can't she make milk of her own?' 'And my mam laughed and said, 'My heart, of course Mew doesn't need our milk. It's us who needs to give it.'

Maliki paused for a moment, letting her words soak in. The crowd had come to a complete hush. Haru found himself leaning forward to catch every softly spoken word.

"Yes, it's us who needs to give it. We need to remember this land we till is Mew's and so's the land of our neighbor. She made it grow first and we must rise and we must sleep with that gratitude every day. You gotta live in gratitude, Sweetheart."

The audience nodded their agreement. "Gratitude!" shouted a craggy-faced man in the front.

Haru shivered. _Gratitude_, he thought, suddenly cold.

Grandmother had passed a few months after they left Johto. Pneumonia, he'd overheard, come on suddenly from a cold left untended. It has been clear to Haru, even at the age of nine, who should have been there to tend her.

They hadn't gone home for the funeral. The timing was just impossible, his father had said, with the company retreat coming up. If they didn't show their faces, they would be marked forever outsiders in this new firm. Grandmother would understand, Father added. She had wanted success for her children.

Hearing that, Haru had bitten his tongue, swallowed down his anger, and said nothing. Said nothing for days, not that anyone noticed. He had always been a quiet child.

When he was fifteen, he'd traveled back to Ecruteak, spending his savings on the trip rather than trying for the Evergrande Conference that year. In the basement of the old dance hall, he'd come across Grandmother's tapestries packed away in a cardboard box. They were ragged and dirt-stained, completely beyond his skill to mend.

And then he had come back. Back to Hoenn's dense metal cities and wild woods. Taken the anger, taken the hurt, and stuffed them in a box of his own, somewhere dark and out of the way, where he wouldn't trip over it.

_Gratitude._

Haru realized his eyes were stinging wet.

Father had been wrong. They'd owed her something more than their own success. There was a price to pay, for knowledge, for guidance, for the gift of birth into a beautiful, ever-renewing world.

Haru stood. Up on the stage, Maliki met his gaze, her own eyes dark with understanding.

"That's right," she said. "Don't be shy, now, if your heart's urging you to speak."

Haru stepped onto the small, makeshift stage and took the mic Maliki offered.

"My grandmother—" he began and then faltered. The crowd was watching him, a crowd of strangers, the press of their eyes hot and itchy.

Fumbling for words, Haru landed on verse instead. "Then Ho-oh beheld the mighty deeds these three spirits had rendered him," he recited, his voice shaking. "And he was pleased and spake, Loyal servants, your service has been good. Then Raikou went up to the Heavens, where he dwelled close to the Life-Bringer. Entei entered the heart of a great mountain, for he was tired and sought rest. But Suicune ran along the white caps of the waves and, like unbidden wind, she was free."

Haru swallowed and licked his lips. The crowd wavered as he stared out past them. On the back wall, a candle flickered: someone had lit the Ho-oh shrine.

"What the verse means, I think, is that there are three kinds of people. Three kinds of ways people choose to lead their lives. Like Entei, some people just seek rest. They're not lazy but they're not driven, either. They live for quiet moments, for peace.

"Other people want power. Or want to be as close to power as they can be, like Raikou when she ascended to the skies. They strive to stand at the tops of big buildings, at the sides of powerful people. And they don't really care what that power is for or what it's accomplishing. They just want to be near it. And the thing about these kinds of people is that they think the world is mostly pretty fine. Maybe they wish their place in it were a little different, a little higher. But otherwise, fine."

Haru paused to draw in a breath.

"The last kind of person doesn't see it that way. She embodies change because she could never stay still. We don't pray to Entei or Raikou, but we pray to _her_, because when she sees a bespoiled lake, she heals it. And there must be people, too, who want to fix the hurt they see, who follow a path no one has set for them. And those people—they've made Suicune's choice."

_Suicune's choice_, somebody murmured in the crowd.

His parents, his sister, they were like Raikou, chasing glory in the sky. But what did their string of promotions amount to? What use was any of it, if it meant that Grandmother had gone to the grave alone, as if she'd never raised a son, never devoted herself to the care of two grandchildren?

Haru couldn't say anything more. If he spoke now, he would begin to sob. Soundlessly, he thrust the mic back towards Maliki.

"Thank you for your words," she said quietly.

Another person was coming forward to take the mic. Haru stumbled to the back of the crowd and sat heavily. He felt like he was caught back in the sheets of rain that swept Route 119, so constant and all-consuming you could lose yourself completely. The anger had festered too long. It overwhelmed him now—anger at his father, his mother, his sister, but at himself, too. He could have said something. He could have spoken up. Yes, he'd been young, but not too young to sit through the boat-ride from Rustboro to Olivine, to take the shuttle that ran to Ecruteak. Even though it would have changed nothing, he could have stood for the funeral rites and murmured with the crowd, "Look to the second sun that waits behind the rainbow. There dwells Ho-oh, Life-Bringer, Lord of All."

When the man in front of Haru got to his feet, Haru blinked. Looking from side to side, he realized that the crowd was breaking up. The evening had ended, while he sat in the storm of his thoughts.

As he stood, a tap on the shoulder made him turn.

"Hey," said Maliki, peering intently into his face. "Are you all right?"

Haru didn't want to imagine what he looked like. He hoped his eyes weren't puffed and red.

"I'm fine," he croaked.

Maliki's lips quirked slightly at the obvious lie. "What you said tonight, Haru, that was very wise. I was wondering, do you mean it? About the three kinds of people? Because if you do, I gotta ask—which kind are you?"

The question cut through the air like a shuriken.

"I don't know," Haru said after a moment. The admission made him feel smaller than he'd ever felt before.

What had driven him all these years, the long, cold nights in his tent, staying out in the wild, refusing to come in. People were supposed to find themselves on pokémon journeys, but Haru wasn't sure he'd found anything other than uncertainty.

He wasn't like his parents or his sisters. But he wasn't better than them, either. What had he accomplished in all his wandering? Of all of it—the fellowship, the badges, the internship—the only choice he could really take pride in was the last, disastrous one. No matter what else happened, Heconilia was out there, flying free as Ho-oh intended.

.

That night, Haru dreamed again. Grandmother was cleaning tapestries in the Bell Tower, humming an old hymn, when fire suddenly sprang out on all sides. First it burned the tapestry, the gold-edged fabric turning black. Unsated, the flames danced onward, towards grandmother's long, veined hands. Just as Haru tensed to run towards her, a hand gripped firmly down on his shoulder. His mother and father dragged him screaming from the tower and they didn't let go until every last wooden beam was burned entirely to ash.

The three beasts were there, watching the devastation unfold. Entei was the first to turn away. Then Raikou, who leaped into the air. Her passage traced a dazzling gold path through the sky. Haru's parents began to ascend along the path, Erika close behind them.

Haru stood alone, just him and Suicune's red gaze, which seemed to weigh him from his head to his heart. Just as he took one fumbling step towards her, she leapt away across the water.

"Wait!" Haru shouted. "_Wait!_"

But she was gone. The clouds drew in and the rain came down, more and more heavily, until Haru was swept away too.


	7. The Initiation

**Chapter Seven - The Initiation**

* * *

The tall house stood alone where the cliff came to a point. Ivy climbed the black-scaled siding. Thick fog draped over the roof.

Haru paused in front of the iron gate. The curved arches depicted Hoenn's titans locked in a ceaseless battle. Groudon's jasper eyes gleamed; Kyogre's tail flared out in blue lapis. If the gate had been shut, Haru would have turned back then and there, but it was propped loosely open.

Beyond, a cobblestone path wandered through an overgrown yard. Bugloss plants grown to monstrous heights criss-crossed past thorny bluk berry and silver-edged goutweed. One bugloss shoot curved directly over the path. Haru stopped to run a finger along its thick, fuzzy stem, still wet from the morning's rain shower. Either this yard was abandoned, he thought, or the owner didn't accept the premise of weeds.

As he approached the door, Haru checked the address one more time against the one Maliki had given him. He'd found her already seated at the table when he came into the kitchen that morning. She'd shot him a small smile and pulled out the chair next to her. Hoping to forestall any discussion of the night before, Haru had seized onto the first safe topic he could think of.

"I looked up that researcher you mentioned. Doctor Qian."

Maliki set down her chopsticks, smile growing. "Did you now! What did you think of her work?"

"I couldn't find much," Haru admitted as he rummaged around in the fridge. His hand closed around the seaweed shell of a leftover rice ball. "Just an abstract. Too bad—it looked like an interesting read."

"I know her," Maliki said, "if you're interested in hearing about her research first-hand."

Haru had almost fumbled his rice-ball. "What, really?"

"Sure. She lives just outside the city, overlooking the water. I bet she'd be in today, if you want to stop by."

"Just like that? Shouldn't I call first—"

Maliki had waved a dismissive hand. "Best not to. Doctor Qian's a spontaneous sort of person."

Swallowing, Haru pushed back his rain slicker and pressed the doorbell lightly, flinching at the imperious _bong_ that rang out. He gazed up at the black-scaled house with growing skepticism. This couldn't be a researcher's house. For one thing, it was simply too huge. If his mother had managed to impress anything on Haru in the past year, it was that a researcher's salary didn't stretch very far. He must have written the address down wrong.

Just as Haru was turning back down the cobblestone path, the door swung open behind him.

"Well?" demanded a voice from the doorway.

Haru bowed hastily, the gesture made awkward as he turned. "Doctor Qian?" he said hesitantly.

"In the flesh." The figure shuffled forward, into the foggy light. She was a petite Hoennese woman, her hair gone a dark gray. The plum-colored sleeves of her house robe hung down past her hands. "Well?"

"My name's Haru Watanabe. I'm a friend of Maliki . . ?"

"Oh." An unreadable expression crossed the old woman's face. "The islander? One of her rag-tag crew, are you? Well, what does she want now? I've already told her I can't help."

"I was hoping to talk to you about one of your papers," Haru plunged on. Why hadn't he called first? There'd clearly been some kind of miscommunication. "I'm an intern, at the Mirage Desert laboratory—"

"You want to talk research!" The old woman cut him off, a smile blooming startlingly on her face. "What are you waiting for, then? Come in, come in."

Slightly dazed, Haru allowed himself to be ushered into a vast, shadowy anteroom. A tall wooden coat rack stood to one side, a shoe rack to the other. Haru removed his muddy boots hastily.

"Mirage Desert, hm?" the old woman said. Her house robe dragged against the floor of the hallway, which was paneled with fine bamboo, but dusty. Haru watched the hem move, half-tempted to lift it off the ground. "What a bunch of blithering idiots. Still, I hear they're choosy when it comes to interns. How do you know Maliki, then?"

"I'm renting a room with her."

"Hmph. And what paper would it be, that's brought you all the way out here to me?"

"'The Impact of High-Stress Voltage Extraction on Electric Pokemon,'" Haru recited.

"Ah, my recent work."

They had entered a large dining room. One glass-windowed wall looked directly out onto the sea. In the distance, a flock of wingull roosted on a raised rock, safe above the white-breaking waves.

"Sit tight, I'll put on tea."

Haru lowered himself gingerly onto one plump floor cushion. An elaborate blue-crystal chandelier cast soft light from the ceiling, though he noticed that several bulbs had burnt out.

Doctor Qian bustled back in a moment later, setting down two cups of dark oolong. The cups let off a faint earthy smell, which mixed pleasantly with the bitter scent of the tea. As Doctor Qian gazed at him expectantly, Haru said, "I was only able to find the abstract, not the whole paper. So I was hoping you could—"

The old woman sprang to her feet before he'd finished speaking.

"Easily remedied."

She vanished down another winding hallway.

As he waited, Haru sipped at his tea, enjoying its smooth, articulated taste. Aristocrat tea, his grandmother would have called it. Tea fit for royalty—and priests, of course.

"Here!" The leather-bound manuscript hit the table with a smack. Haru flipped the cover open to find the title, "The Impact of High-Stress Voltage Extraction on Electric Pokemon."

Haru began to read. At first, he was uncomfortably aware of Doctor Qian's gaze, fixed on him as she slurped noisily at her tea. But soon, the article took up his entire focus. The study examined the short-term and long-term health impacts of voltage-extraction on the electric-type pokemon that worked at the Mauville Power Plant.

Electric-type pokemon naturally built up stores of electricity in their bodies, Haru read. These stores fluctuated by age, season, battling frequency, and other stressors, with a certain baseline required to maintain the pokemon's health. The electricity extraction method used at the Mauville power plant Doctor Qian termed "high-stress" voltage extraction, because it drained the pokemon of enough electricity in a single session that they fell below their baseline. This triggered a stress response that excited the pokemon's electricity production, causing the worker pokemon to replenish their electric stores in a matter of days, rather than weeks. Doctor Qian didn't dwell much more on what she labeled the "stress-production cycle." Her paper measured its impact on the pokemon's health. And the numbers from her study were grim. Haru's gut was churning by the time he set the paper down.

"Finished, are you?" Doctor Qian said. The rain was a growing drumbeat against the window; Haru hadn't noticed when it first began.

He nodded.

"And what do you think?" the old woman demanded.

Haru was reminded of Doctor Ogletree turning to question him in the hallway. _Another test_, he thought. "It's a very compelling study. I thought the health metrics were well chosen, very concrete. And the disparity's just extreme, I mean, the charge degeneration rate alone—"

"Criticism?" Doctor Qian said, her eyes not moving from Haru's face.

He hesitated.

"The sample size," he said at last. "You say one hundred, but that hundred is drawn from three species of pokemon. You compare them within the species groups, but then present those results as combined. I'm not sure that extrapolation is entirely justified. I think it would be more accurate to say you compared twenty sets of voltorb, twenty-four sets of magnemite, and fifty-six sets of electrike, rather than claiming you compared a hundred sets of electric-type pokemon, as if there wasn't species variation."

Haru drew in a nervous breath when he had finished, unsure how this would be received, but Doctor Qian's low chuckle surprised him.

"Well spotted. Yes, I fudged it there, no doubt. Why do you think I did that? Why not just study one hundred each?"

"There weren't that many available of each species?" Haru guessed.

"No, no, the power plant employs a thousand electric pokemon at least, with hundreds in turn-over each year. So why didn't I get myself some more respectable numbers, hm?" Before Haru could attempt an answer, she continued, "Simple enough. Didn't have the resources. I self-fund all my work, you know. Take a look around—I can afford it. But my resources do have a limit. I've got my own lab built into the back, but it's not set up to process that many pokemon. I'd need a bigger space and several additional hands to produce some really decent numbers."

"Why not work with the Mirage Desert lab?" Haru said. "Or get a grant to hire some lab assistants and rent out—"

Doctor Qian's disdainful laugh rang through the room. "Get a grant? Ah, my boy, the funders wouldn't touch this one with a ten-foot elastic pole. And neither would the brown-nosers at the labs. They know where their bread is buttered."

"Why wouldn't it get funded?" Haru shot back, his voice rising. "This is an important issue. If voltage extraction is killing pokemon early—I mean, electrike only live fifteen to twenty years if they don't evolve. So that's cutting their lifespans by a third or even a half—"

"I know." Doctor Qian cut him off. "That's why I started this research project, you know. All the electrike corpses washing up on my little beach down there were difficult to ignore." A tremor entered her voice as she jerked a finger towards the rain-streaked window and the ocean beyond it. "All of them with those damn worker chips. But Mauville won't fund anything that endangers their precious electricity. Our power is electric power, one of our mayors used to say. Hah!"

"But if I understood your paper correctly, it's the high-stress extraction method that's causing the issue," Haru said. "If the plant sets their specialists on finding a different method, maybe graduating the extraction—"

Doctor Qian shook her head. "They won't. First, it would cost extra money, and when do the corps like to cough that up? But second, what if the solution turns out not to be so easy? What if the method's not the problem, just the extraction? Then they'd have admitted to the world there was a problem, see? Admitted it was a bigger issue than the babbling of old kooks like me and those crazy fundamentalist kids. Given it legitimacy. So these companies, the government—they'd sooner touch a gulpin than my research." She snorted. "A gulpin would make them look a lot less dirty."

Outside, the waves churned. A storm was brewing on the water. Haru tried to collect his thoughts. Companies were money grubbing, but they wouldn't condone electric pokemon _dying_ just to save a few yuans. Would they?

Doctor Qian studied him, a knowing look on her face. "Not an easy pill to swallow, is it," she said quietly.

"If pokemon are dying to power Hoenn—that's _unjust_."

The word came out a hiss between his teeth.

For some time, the only sound was the rain beating on the window. Haru stared out at the sea, unable to wipe the image of electrike corpses from his mind. He'd almost trained an electrike. Befriended a one under the bike-path, smiled at the way it jumped among the patches of clover, chasing its own electric sparks. He felt sick to his stomach.

"Are you religious, boy?"

Haru blinked at Doctor Qian's sudden question. He supposed the short answer was yes. But yes didn't encompass a childhood spent learning at Grandmother's feet, or that dark, cruel year in Rustboro, when he cried every time he tried to pray. It didn't encompass his years on the road as a trainer, the silent prayers he made each day, even though he never crossed the threshold of a prayer house. It didn't encompass the feeling he'd experienced, alone on the rainswept path of Route 119—the sudden, absolute certainty that had crystallized inside his heart.

"My father's family were priests," he offered at last. Maybe less an explanation than an excuse.

Doctor Qian raised an eyebrow, setting down her cup of tea. "Were they now? I come from a line of priests myself, as it happens. From Mossdeep. Were your family the rich kind of priests?"

"Not rich," Haru said, looking up at the blue-crystal chandelier. His family's home back in Ecruteak had wide rooms and well-polished floors, but never anything that extravagant. "We were comfortable."

Doctor Qian snorted. "Well, mine were rich. Received a handsome stipend from the local government for doing a few dances at the appropriate time of years. To ward off the wrath of the ancient ones, you know. Mossdeep was born in the clash between the Land-Maker and the Sea-Spreader and we've always been a bit paranoid about that. Worried a second clash would come and unmake us as thoughtlessly as we were once made. Thus the dances."

She paused to take a sip of tea.

"I don't think my parents really believed, you know. It was their day job. Most of what they did was city politics anyway—endless development planning meetings, endless fights with the space station. I'm pretty sure they took bribes, too. Oh, you want to build your luxury mansion only a few meters from the sea-side? Very dangerous, very provocative towards the Great Sea-Spreader. But we can ease the way for you—at the all important planning meetings, as well as with the gods. You can fill in the rest, I'm sure. Well, I didn't want any part of it—split off, got my degree. The money was a nice surprise, when they finally passed. I was sure I'd be disinherited.

"And then—" The rain was coming down in sheets now. Doctor Qian turned to stare out at the blurred seascape, her voice distant. "Then the world ended. Just the way it went in the stories. Do you remember? You would have been too young, I suppose. It began with a rain storm, not too different than today's. But that rain didn't stop.

"The skies were so thick with storm clouds that day seemed like night. And the water rose here in Mauville, so high that I could dangle my feet over the cliff-edge and get them wet. Hard to remember what I was thinking at the time. I rummaged through the chests in the attic like a woman possessed, until I found my mother's old robes, still smelling of sandalwood and cinnamon. I draped them over my scrawny body and stood out there in the rain, wondering if I should do some kind of dance." She let out a quiet, bitter laugh. "All I managed to do was get myself soaked all through and a nasty case of pneumonia a few days later.

"But the rain did end, eventually, and the world didn't. The titans retreated into their dens. And that's when I realized. We aren't going to get _justice_. There won't be a final reckoning, where the worthy rise and the unworthy sink beneath the waves."

Doctor Qian's voice hardly shook, but her hands trembled as she clasped her tea cup. Outside, the rain dropped off. The clouds shifted, and a beam of sunlight fell suddenly across the bamboo floor.

"Maybe it was a warning." Haru hadn't intended to speak. The words came from nowhere—he found them waiting ready on his tongue. "Maybe we only get one."

The doctor stared at him, her face gone pale. All at once she seemed very old and very frail in her over-sized robe.

Hoenn's gods had made the land shake and the seas rise. But the people hadn't heeded the sign. They'd continued to build their towers, spit in their seas. _Electrike corpses on the beach_.

"Thank you for taking the time to speak with me, Doctor," Haru said into the silence. He needed to get somewhere he could think. When he stood and made a deep bow, Doctor Qian rose as well. They passed down the shadowed hallway without speaking. As Haru slipped on his boots, Doctor Qian's voice startled him. It echoed loudly off the wood walls.

"You can tell your islander friend I'm in."

Haru glanced over at her in confusion. Doctor Qian's chin was set firmly and her eyes glittered in the dark entry hall.

"In?" Haru repeated.

"Yes, _in_. Whatever it is. You think they've told me the details? I'm the establishment!" She let out a short, humorless chuckle. "Though, believe me, that would be news to the establishment."

"I—I'll pass that on to Maliki," Haru said at last. He stepped out into a light drizzle and made his way down the cobblestone path, out the gate. The groudon's jasper eyes burned into his back.

.

Maliki's smile lit her whole face, when Haru told her what Doctor Qian had said. Before he could react, she'd reached out and pressed him into a quick hug, even though his jacket was soaking wet. "That's wonderful news. Thank you, Haru."

Haru drew in a deep breath. He'd felt jumpy and unsettled the whole way home.

"Maybe you can thank me by telling me what she meant by that," he said. The words came out more sharply than he'd intended.

"Well, you heard the doctor's research. What do you think of it all?"

"It's wrong." It was as if Haru had been waiting for the question. Every swirling thought from the walk home poured out in a confused, emphatic torrent. "This voltage extraction method, it's wrong, and even if more studies need to be done, they should be calling a moratorium on it, the funding should be _pouring_ in for more experiments. I'd always heard it's healthy for electric types to let off excess energy, but this isn't that. It's a complete perversion of a natural stress mechanism. And if it's killing them or worsening their quality of life to that extent—do the pokemon know what they're getting into? I mean, they _can't _know, right? So it's our responsibility to make the work safe for them. That's our _duty_."

Maliki nodded, a solemn look on her face. "You're right, it _is_ our duty. But you think a company cares about that? _They_ think their duty is to their bottom line. You think the city of Mauville cares? The people might, if they knew. But the politicos sure don't. Their power's proportional to the power coming out of that damn plant and they know it. Oh, they know it." Maliki paused for a moment, as if waiting to see if Haru had a counter-argument prepared. "So where does that leave us?" she continued when he stayed quiet. "If we know about this and we've got a duty. Well, we have to let people know, don't we?"

"There was an article," Haru said. "When I looked Doctor Qian up. In some paper—I forget the name . . ."

"Rewire? Yeah, Rewire's great. A real decent, hard-working alt, surviving by the skin of their teeth. But they've hardly got any circulation. Besides, anyone picking up that paper already knows this city has some problems. But how do we reach the ones who don't? How do we make it so this can't be ignored?"

Another test. But not one Haru knew how to answer. They stared at each other in silence. A few drops of rain-water ran down Haru's sopping bangs and fell to the kitchen floor in a series of _plonks_.

"Sunday night," Maliki said slowly, "we're going to make some news they can't ignore."

What did that mean? Who was _we_? And why was Maliki looking at him like she expected—the same way she'd looked at him last night in the shrine room, a gaze that asked, _which kind of person are you?_

_The cowardly kind_, Haru thought, letting his eyes fall to the increasingly wet floor. His nav rested like a hot coal in his pocket.

"I've got to put on something dry," he said at last.

"Sure," Maliki answered, her tone impenetrable. "Just think about it, will you?"

.

Early Sunday morning, Haru returned to the Mirage Desert lab. He desperately wanted some time alone with Damascus, but his heart sank when Doctor Ogletree's gruff voice answered the buzzer.

"It's Haru Watanabe, Sir," he said. "I was here Friday? I was hoping to visit my cradily again, but if it's too much trouble I can wait until—"

"Watanabe? No, no, come in. That damn expedition was delayed another night and I need a second pair of hands."

"I haven't had an orientation yet—"

"A trained chimcharr could handle this work, and you're smarter than that, aren't you?"

The door buzzed without waiting for Haru's answer. He found Doctor Ogletree in one of the smaller lab rooms, the door propped open. The man reeled off some rapid fire instructions before leading Haru over to a set of petri dishes.

"Doctor," Haru said, as the man turned to leave. "Can I ask you a question?"

"Hm?" Doctor Ogletree's mustache twitched in irritation. "What part of that's unclear?"

"Not about the samples. Um." Haru swallowed. He didn't want to waste the head researcher's time, but there was no one better to ask. Doctor Qian clearly had some grudge against the Mirage lab. She might have completely misread the situation. "I was wondering how projects get funded. How is that determined? Where does the money come from?"

Doctor Ogletree's hearty laugh made Haru flinch. "Lad, it will be a good five years before you have to trouble yourself with questions like that! If you think labeling samples is tedious, try writing grant proposals!"

Which didn't exactly answer the question. Haru tried a different tact, remembering the way Doctor Ogletree had paused to lecture in the corridor when the topic turned to his own research.

"Your own work, for example. How do you fund it?"

Doctor Ogletree's hand rose to his bushy mustache. Its red color was really very striking, especially since, Haru couldn't help but notice, his eyebrows were completely gray.

"Well, this is a government lab. We get a set sum each year out of the federal budget, to divy up among our internal projects as we wish. It's not enough, obviously. Government always underfunds us. So that's when we turn to corporate. DevCo's a massive funder, of course. Been very generous with my research. That Steven Stone's a good influence—appreciates a good archeological dig, that man. I met him myself, actually, last year at the annual meeting of the Society for the Preservation of Prehistoric Pokemon." The pause Doctor Ogletree inserted here had an expectant air.

Erika's advice echoed through Haru's mind: a delicate balance between hard work, skill, and sucking up.

"Wow," Haru said. "Did you really?"

"Indeed." Doctor Ogletree gave a satisfied nod. "So rest assured, lad, this is a very well-respected lab. We don't suffer from the funding troubles some other places do."

Haru chose his next words carefully. "I can see that, Sir. But what if—what if, say, your research began to indicate that the despeciation problem _is_ being caused by human activity? By the same companies giving you money? Would they still fund you?"

Ogletree furrowed his eyebrow. "Ah, well, you have put your finger there on one extremely thorny funding problem. The media and some ridiculous non-profits are always trying to politicize my research. Use it to justify their policy programs. That kind of thing is very toxic, lad, very toxic. Not much to do about it, unfortunately, except try to keep your work out of the popular domain as much as possible."

Had he heard that correctly?

"I don't understand," Haru said, before he could stop to think. "Once the research is out there, why wouldn't people try to find solutions? How is that bad? Isn't that the whole point of diagnosing problems?"'

Doctor Ogletree's face creased into a heavy frown. "Lad, you seem to be operating under a fundamental misapprehension here. It's called the despeciation _problem_ because we don't understand it, not because it's our job to solve it."

Haru blinked. "Whose job is it, then?"

"Hm?" Doctor Ogletree's mustache gave a twitch. "Well, society's, perhaps. But not us. We are researchers, compilers of knowledge, clean fact and theory, not _activists_."

"But how is society supposed to _know_ what needs fixing without our work to tell them?" Haru demanded.

A thick silence fell. Haru realized he'd raised his voice into just short of a shout.

"I have work to get back to," Doctor Ogletree said finally, his voice cold. "Working here, young man, you'll have to learn that there's a time for asking questions and a time for bucking down and doing what you're told."

Haru sunk into a rigid, Johtoan bow. "Of course, Sir. Please accept my apology."

He turned to the samples, fighting to keep his mind blank. Sample 1. Divide into five dishes. _**Sample 1 Test 1**_, he marked on the first plastic surface. Whose job is it to decide? _Not mine_, Doctor Ogletree had said. _Not ours_.

But who did that leave?

As Haru worked his way mechanically through the sample plates, a memory rose in his mind of a dimly-lit room, the warm puff of alcohol against his face.

_Who is it all working for and who is going to stop me?_

The words circled through Haru's head as he bent over the lab table. When his stomach grumbled, Haru took a short break. He didn't see Doctor Ogletree, but he did find a drawer of power bars in the lobby room. The sweet, nutty bar didn't do much to clear his head, but it did give him the energy to return to the lab room.

The sun was setting when Haru set down the last labeled test sample. His back ached from the awkward way he'd been bending and his stomach felt cramped and empty. The lab seemed deserted. In the lobby, the electric lights were off, though they flickered back to life when Haru walked in. Had Doctor Ogletree already gone home?

Haru knew he should leave as well, but his feet led him back down the hallway towards the thick door of the terrarium. Inside, the terrarium was cooler now, faithfully mimicking the weather patterns of the desert. Haru shivered in his light jacket as he crossed the sand. The moonlight made the terrarium into a shifting sea of silver and black. All was silent except for the faint scratching of trapinch tunneling somewhere below.

"Damascus?" Haru called out in a whisper. Was she already sleeping? Cradily were strictly diurnal, but Haru had known Damascus to keep him company late into the night. Then again, that had been on the road. The pull of her native environment might have made her revert to her usual biological rhythms.

As Haru stood uncertainly by the edge of the still oasis, he caught a glint of red above, too static to be the roving eye of a baltoy. All at once, his stomach sinking, Haru realized his mistake. Of course the terrarium would be under surveillance! It was an observation room, after all.

Even if he managed to wake Damascus, he wouldn't be able to tell her anything, not with a camera listening in. He was probably in trouble already just for having entered the terrarium unsupervised. He hurried out, down the long hallway.

When he stepped outside, the night was still and dry, without a trace of yesterday's rains. Haru stood motionless for a moment, fighting the urge to cry.

If only Nya-Nya were here. The delcatty would curl up with him, a warm weight in his lap as she kneaded rhythmically against his legs. But to see Nya-Nya he'd have to face Mother or Father. And Haru didn't think he could stand to look at either of them right now, not with the memories of Grandmother still so close.

Erika had always been the one to have flaming rows with their parents. She and Mother could go back and forth for hours, but they made up as quickly as they fought. Haru, in contrast, never raised his voice. If he was angry, he'd clam up until the anger fell to a low simmer. But right now, Haru thought if he were to see his parents he'd begin to scream and not stop.

For a moment, he was tempted to turn back towards the lab, walk past it, out into Mirage Desert. No one would be out there to take offense if he poured all the grief, all the fear, all the anger of the past week into one long scream.

That would be stupid, though. The dust storms of Mirage Desert could whip up in an instant. Even close to the edge, it was possible to completely lose your way.

So Haru wiped his eyes and set off towards Mauville in silence. Above, the stars wavered like guttering candle-lights.

.

When Haru pushed back the faded curtain, he found the shrine room a bustling hive. Maliki stood at the center of it all, conferring with one person, then the next. But when she caught sight of Haru, she cut across the room.

"Tonight," Haru said, before she could speak. "You said you're doing something they can't ignore, right?"

Maliki studied him carefully. She was dressed in dark, muted clothing and she'd removed her bright orange earrings. "Yes," she said. "That's right."

Haru sucked in a breath. His stomach was cramping, his eyes stung, and the inside of his head was thumping and stamping loudly, like a slaking gone berserk. When he opened his mouth, instead of a scream, he heard himself say, "Count me in."


	8. The Raid

**Chapter Eight - The Raid**

* * *

The candlelight wavered across Maliki's face. "What we're doing. You know it's not exactly within the thin bright line of the law."

"I understand."

"Do you?" Her gaze weighed him. "Do your pokemon? If you're caught, you'll get a defense lawyer. They won't."

"Lawyer" conjured up a TV image of wooden podiums and judgemental eyes. She'd chosen the word on purpose, he decided, to see if he'd back down.

"I don't have any pokemon," he said instead.

Her eyebrow rose. "Didn't you—"

Explaining about Atalanta would mean explaining everything. "I don't have any pokemon," he repeated.

"All right. We leave in fifteen minutes. Stick to Power Axel on the way over." She nodded towards a scowling teenager in the corner. His dark brown hair covered most of his face in a ragged sweep, and a magneton buzzed by his head. Haru recognized him as the instant noodle chef who had fled the kitchen a few days ago. _Thursday_. That day already seemed like a distant island—like a full sea had closed in behind him.

"Power Axel?"

"We go by code names," Maliki explained. "Safer that way. You should pick one for yourself."

Nothing came to mind. When he opened his mouth, an old nickname fell out. "Caterpie."

Maliki was surprised into a smile. "Caterpie? You sure you don't want to go with something a little grander?"

Haru shook his head. He felt only tenuously attached to the earth—light from hunger, strangely airy. His hands were shaking.

"Caterpie it is then." Maliki waved at the scowling boy. "Hey, Axel! Caterpie here is your responsibility until we reach the plant."

The boy gave a quick dismissive nod. When Haru walked over to him, he didn't say hello. The shrine room buzzed with anticipatory chatter, but the hushed conversations were too low for Haru to catch. He pulled out his nav instead.

"You can't bring that."

Startled, Haru looked up. The boy was watching him with a deepened scowl.

"DevCo crams in all sorts of shit. And I don't have time to wipe it for you."

"I'll put it in my room," Haru said quickly. When he returned, the boy was waiting with a black bandana held in his left hand and a power bar in his right.

"Hungry?" he asked in a slightly less hostile voice, and shoved both items at Haru before he could answer.

Just then, the chatter guttered out like a candle exposed to wind. Maliki had taken the stage. Everyone gathered around her, and the silence thickened with expectation.

"We call ourselves the Sacred Flame," Maliki said in a low, resonant voice. "We have no creed. We know that we are grateful and we are free. People have forgot their freedom and their gratitude. We're gonna bring it back. Back to the people, back to the pokemon. It starts with the feeling right in here"—she clasped her fist over her heart—"that they can never take from you, because what is in here is so true and so right. It's the flame that Arcanine brought us. I know some here tell it another way. But all the same, it's that very flame Arcanine gave to humanity from a place of mercy, and each generation bears that debt and that duty, tending to this land we've been given. Mauville Power Plant's forgotten that duty. Tonight, we're gonna remind them."

Nobody clapped, but the fervent nods and flashing of prayer signs struck Haru as a more potent reaction than applause would have been.

The departures were staggered. Haru hung back next to Axel, until the boy suddenly started forward, his steps darting and impatient. The night was wet with mist, and the pavement was dark like a river. In the alleyway, a wild magnemite was attempting to feed off the nearest street-light, but the pokemon-proofed casing defeated it. Axel paused.

"Tri attack, fire only," he murmured to his magneton. One steel-rimmed eye blinked open. It floated lazily upwards and struck at the street-light with a red-hot magnet, knocking off the casing. A surprised sound, almost a chirp, came from the wild magnemite. It extended its magnets to the exposed wiring and began to feed. The street-light flickered out, leaving the alley a murky gray.

"Least this godforsaken city can do for them," Axel muttered. "Come on, let's go."

As they crossed into the more upscale parts of the city, the street-lights multiplied. Tall apartment buildings shed yellow light, and neon arrays flashed on every unused surface. When Haru had first experienced Mauville City at night, he'd been seized with a sense of undirected awe for human achievement.

Now the profusion of light struck him as strange and sinister.

The sprawling complexes of the power plant lay on the far outskirts of the city, where the houses dropped off and the pavement subsided into brown scrub. They came to a stop twenty meters in front of a gently-pulsing yellow barrier. A light screen. Probably intended to keep out the wild electric types attracted by the power generated inside the plant. Haru glanced to his side and saw that Axel had tied his bandana. He followed suit; the fabric fit snugly over his nose. When he breathed, warm air pooled over his lips and lingered, as if in anticipation.

They stood without speaking, Axel gazing determinedly into the field. Haru tried to match him, but the shifting light of the barrier made his head ache. He shut his eyes. The silence was thick out here; the noises of the city had receded into a distant growl. But he soon became aware of another sound, a low scrabbling, close at hand. It sounded familiar.

For several minutes, Haru couldn't work out why. Then it came to him—the terrarium. It was the sound of trapinch digging.

_They weren't going to break through the barrier. They were going to go under it._

In the distance, a light flashed twice.

"Come on," Axel said.

To enter the trapinch tunnel, Haru had to get to his hands and knees. The soil was still wet from yesterday's rain and clung to his pants and palms like clay. At the midpoint, the light was blocked out completely. Haru stilled, drawing in a full breath. The air in here was moist, alive. He could hear his heartbeat, mystifyingly steady.

When he emerged, a wet breeze lapped at his face. Three trapinch were clustered by the mouth of the tunnel, snouts encrusted with black soil. Their eyes gleamed like stars set in tar.

"Five minutes," said Axel, shoving a can of spray paint into Haru's hands. "Be quick."

"What should I—" Haru flinched at how loudly his whisper cut the silence.

"There's a reason you're here, right?" Axel said in a muffled voice. "Don't you know it?"

With that, he turned away, a spray can clasped in either hand. The wrathful face of Zapdos took form in a hiss of furious yellow and black. _**THESE ARE MY BROTHERS AND SISTERS**_, read Axel's messy capitals. _**MY RETRIBUTION IS SWIFT**_.

Haru shook the cylinder in his own hand and heard the liquid slosh. It took him a few tries to determine the correct amount of pressure and distance. Slowly, words took shape.

_**Verse 8:14. But Suicune ran along the white caps of the waves and, like unbidden wind, she was free.**_

The tap on his shoulder made Haru flinch. He hadn't felt the time slip away.

"Stay or go, Caterpie?" Maliki whispered. A butterfree watched him from her shoulder, its eyes an eerie red. Haru followed her gaze to where half the crew had regrouped by the tunnel. The barrier glimmered behind them like an untimely sunrise.

_Go?_ He felt unmoored, incomplete. The night was utterly calm; in the distance, he spotted the tell-tale flares of volbeat, circling over the sea. _Not yet. _

"Stay," he whispered back. If her expression changed, he couldn't tell from under her bandana.

Haru joined the group by the entrance, just as the doors slid open with a metallic snick. He threw an arm over his eyes as light erupted from the opening. It cut out abruptly, leaving eddies of black and white swirling behind his lids. Someone must have found the off-switch.

They stepped inside. The only light now came from the butterfree. A soft, purple-green glow spilled from its wings, just bright enough to lift the corridor ahead from pitch blackness into uncertain gray shadow. When the corridor forked, the group split. Haru followed Maliki.

Their footsteps made a muffled melody. Time seemed to stretch out and distort. Twice his hand dipped to his left pocket, only to find it empty of his nav. Haru's eyes strained to force the darkness into some kind of order, but each corridor was the same unending gray.

Eventually he gave up, and let distance join time as concepts that lost their meaning here.

When Maliki drew to a sudden halt ahead, he almost ran into her. She turned, a finger over her lips in the universal gesture for _hush_. Haru listened, but he heard nothing except the low hum of machinery somewhere in the indecipherable distance. The seconds lengthened. Then a high wail split the silence, as terrible as a scream.

Maliki traced a signal in the air, purple light burning behind her hands. She turned the bend and vanished along with her butterfree—and the light.

Blood pumped in Haru's ears. The darkness assembled before his eyes into an ensemble of tiny, whirling dancers. Simultaneously, he heard a shout, a thud, and a long, low growl. Before the growl ended, Haru was moving. He waded into the black, found the sharp edge of a corner and felt his way around it to see yellow light spilling from a doorway.

It was a breakroom: small, sparsely furnished. The unimportant details filtered in first—the blue couch, bleeding foam; the flimsy fold-up chairs; the kettle sobbing on the counter-top.

A man in the blue uniform of the power plant lay slumped on the floor. Over him stood a manectric, Maliki's butterfree gripped in its mouth. Sparks prickled across its upraised fur.

"We're here to help," Maliki was saying, her hands raised and her voice steady. "We're here to release your brothers and sisters."

The manectric hadn't noticed Haru yet. He inched forward, his eyes fixed on the kettle only feet away. Maliki was still speaking, but the manectric wasn't listening. Haru reached the countertop just as the break room lit up blue.

His arm completed the arc of the throw before he even registered his hand on the kettle. The manectric howled as the boiling water hit its back, and the butterfree dropped from its mouth like a discarded toy. A bolt of electricity skittered towards Haru, but hit the countertop instead, searing a line into the black surface. The butterfree fluttered raggedly into the air. Purple powder shook from her wings and settled on the manectric's fur. Its body tensed as if to leap, but something gave way at the last moment. Its front legs collapsed, and the rest of it followed. A few stray sparks leaped up from its fur and flickered out.

Silence fell, broken by the jittery hum of the break-room fridge. The air smelled of burnt plastic.

Maliki pushed herself up from the floor into a crouch. Her hair was singed, but nothing else. She extended a hand towards the sleeping manectric, as if to smooth its fur.

"This one would come back even if we did release it," she said at last, voice pensive. Her eyes met his. "Thanks, Caterpie."

"You're welcome," Haru tried, but his mouth was too dry for words. He thought he should help Maliki up, but by the time he stumbled over to her, she was already on her feet.

"It's not much further. Come on."

Haru's blood thrummed under his skin as they re-joined the others and continued down the corridor. His head darted from side to side, expecting a band of snarling manectric to materialize from the shadows at any moment.

But they met no more guards. Their destination lay behind metal doors, the surface sleek like seal-skin in the jittery green light. Maliki tapped a card, and warned, "Lights."

Haru pressed his eyes shut. He heard the door slide open and Maliki's disgusted hiss.

"_Workers_. What kind of workers are imprisoned in their place of work?"

The lights burned. Blinking hard, Haru made out shelves filled floor to ceiling with pokeballs. He tried to estimate the number, but half-way up they blurred into a long red line, and he lost count. _Each one holds a life_, he thought numbly. The sight was somehow obscene.

_So Ho-oh left the earth unto the dominion of Man_. Father liked to quote those words whenever protestors flashed their signs on the evening news. In his mouth, it became a justification. _The earth is ours to shape to our will_.

Grandmother had seen it differently. _Dominion_, she spat, was the mistranslation of greedy priests. Bailment was the proper word.

"We hold the earth in trust, until the Life-Bringer returns. We own it no more than I own the parcel left in my care."

It had been the slow period in the temple, that time when even the most chatty congregants had dispersed from the morning services and before even the most devout returned for evening prayers. Mother and Erika had been at loggerheads that day. Their shouts had chased him from the house to the stuffy quiet of the prayer-house. Their topic was the move. Erika didn't want to go. Her friends were here, she yelled, slamming her palm against the table in emphasis, not across the sea. Haru didn't want to leave either, but he didn't see the use in arguing. When Mother and Father agreed, they became like mortar and brick, forming a wall that stood fast against any assault. You could scream, but you'd only lose your voice. You could beat your fists, but you'd only bruise them. _Hold your tongue. Conserve your strength_. He'd learned those lessons early.

The murky afternoon light had underscored every wrinkle and crevice on Grandmother's face with charcoal shadow. "We are _wardens_, Haru. It is a burden. A burden. It is not light."

And she'd taken his hand and squeezed it, so tightly he almost cried out.

The others were unzipping backpacks and duffle bags. Someone tossed Haru a spare. Maliki stood with her foot tapping, eyes fixed on the ticking hand of her old-fashioned watch.

"Time," she said and walked up to the wall of pokeballs. She hesitated, then reached out firmly and plucked one from the shelf. Everyone looked to the ceiling, cringing in anticipation of an alarm blare that didn't come.

"Nice one, Axel," someone murmured, and there was a general easing.

Maliki's butterfree took to the air with a dry rustle, a glow rising on her wings and expanding outward. Pinkish light wrapped itself around each pokeball; one by one, like cheri berries shaken from a tree, the pokeballs dropped into their open bags.

How many pokeballs—fifty? One hundred? They'd barely emptied the front-most shelves. Haru hefted up the duffel, shocked at the lack of weight. Grandmother's words rang through his mind. _It is not light_.

They were leaving. The same shapeless corridors, the same muffled steps, but they moved now like sleepwalkers who had awakened onto a race-track.

The first alarm struck like a blow to the back.

Haru buckled: for a moment, all strength left his legs. Then Maliki screamed, "Run," and the darkness cascaded into itself. Maybe the distance really had been an illusion, because when they reached the exit, only minutes seemed to have passed, except that his lungs and chest were on fire. He staggered out into the open air, the blue velvet sweep of the sky.

Someone shoved him forward, towards the mouth of the tunnel. He crawled blindly through the dirt. The plain was still empty. Behind him the barrier rippled with majestic calm. No, not empty. A colony of oddish whirled in the moonlight, their fronds swaying to some private melody. A bellossom spun in their midst. Petals, vividly pink against night, fluttered through the air. The beauty was disconcerting. Haru stood spell-bound; his nose and throat clogged with musk and jasmine.

Suddenly, the oddish scattered. Jeeps cut across the field, headlights streaking out like wild paint strokes. Their passage tore up the grass and soured the air. Haru relapsed into motion.

_I can't run anymore, I'll burst_, he thought, _My legs will turn to ribbons, my throat will combust. I can't._

But his mind and his body had parted ways. His legs pumped, heedless. Behind him came the sounds of pokeballs releasing, but he didn't turn. Scrub turned to pavement. Buildings rose on either side, and the pitch of trains and traffic filled the air. At last, heaving, he came to a halt in an alleyway. He sank into a crouch, aware that standing would circulate his breath better, but unable to muster the strength.

The bellosom's aroma clung to his clothing. _Will they have tracker growlithe? _he wondered with a fresh jolt of panic. Each bellosom's scent was unique. They could trace him, even if hours passed. He couldn't return to the shrine like this. Unless . . .

Fives minutes slipped by before he could force himself to move. There was a small pokemart at the end of the block, its blue awning tinted gray from the constant smog. The bell jingled as he stepped inside, making him flinch. Haru thought he must look a sight—hair mussed, clothing soiled, stinking jasmine, but the woman at the counter barely blinked. He bought the cheapest brand of repel he could find, the kind he normally avoided due its the overpowering stench. Back in the alleyway, he sprayed himself and the duffel until he was choking on rotten egg and rank berry.

The walk back passed in a daze. He drew dirty looks, probably from the repel stench, but nobody spoke to him, and Haru's exhaustion was such that putting one foot in front of the other demanded his complete focus. When he saw the familiar lavender hanging to the shrine-room, he almost doubled over in relief.

All the candles had snuffed out. Haru fumbled through the darkness. Twice he stumbled on the overlapping rugs, before his eyes adjusted, and he made out a pile of duffel bags in the corner. He hadn't been the only one to escape, then. Had Maliki made it out? He found her room and knocked, but there was no answer.

His body screamed at him to collapse, but his mind buzzed with a brightness that resisted sleep. He showered, scrubbing himself with citrus-scented soap until he could bear to breathe in his own air. He changed into pajamas, flicked off the lights, and stared into the wavering darkness of the ceiling. That was unnerving, like he was still back in those corridors. He got to his feet, flicked the lights back on, and retrieved his nav from where had left it. Out of habit, he pulled up the newsfeed, and with it a host of notifications from the alert he'd set on Route 119. The first notification was a weather forecast, the second a photo essay depicting camouflaged kecleon.

When Haru reached the third, his heart stopped.

* * *

The knock was gentle, but insistent. Maliki's voice floated under the door. "Haru? Are you up?"

She hadn't been caught, then. The relief was like a buoy in a hurricane. Haru caught onto it and clung, despite the futility.

"Can I come in?"

"Yes," he managed, his voice like crumbling leaves.

She hadn't changed yet. Sweat gleamed on her forehead, and her braids were askew.

"I owe you a debt of gratitude, Haru. You saved my life tonight."

Had he? The memory fragmented when he tried to call it up. A wailing kettle, a flash of light. It had been instinct, from one moment to the next. There hadn't been any thought.

"Not just for that. Doctor Qian's agreed to rehome the pokemon liberated from the plant. She has the resources to remove their worker chips. Once those are disabled, the plant has no claim on them."

"That's great," Haru said hollowly.

Maliki gave him a long look. She sat down gingerly on the bed and spoke in a careful voice, like she was circling a wounded gyarados. "Are you regretting this?"

"No!" The word erupted from him. He swung his head from side to side. "No, it's not that. It's something else. I made a bad mistake. I—"

The tears surprised him. They came with no warning, no catching of the breath. One moment he was stiff-faced, the next he had collapsed into wetness.

"Hey now, Catepie, breathe, come on and breathe with me." Maliki's words rushed over him like a relentless stream. "You're here and you're safe and you got out. Breathe." Her hand touched his shoulder. "I'm here. Breathe."

Then it was words, not tears, spilling out. He spoke out-of-order, haphazardly. It was the day he met Heconilia—an impossible day, with not a single cloud in the sky. She had sniffed curiously at the berry he offered her. It was a species native to Viridian, nothing she could have tasted before. She'd loped after him through the undergrowth; the vines had swished and swacked.

He was telling her how he got the name Caterpie. It had been an insult, but he'd never minded: the name suited him. In biology class they'd learned how caterpie fed, safe in the curl of a leaf, how towards the end of their larval stage, their movements slowed. There was a short span of time before evolution when caterpie went completely prone. All their energy was held inside, conserved for evolution. _This is the most dangerous time for them_, their biology teacher declared with gusto. Without the option of flight, without the defense of a hard metapod shell, they were vulnerable to every hazard. Haru had closed his eyes, imagining how that would feel. Knowing that if the change didn't come, you would die. In that moment, all you had was your faith.

He was back on Route 119, and the rain was thick enough to drown. The narrative clarified. He told her the rest in a thin but unfaltering voice, as if it had happened to somebody else. Finally, he thrust out his nav and let her read the words inscribed there like an epitaph.

Throughout, Maliki didn't say a word. Her eyes were half-lidded. For a moment, Haru thought she'd fallen asleep. But then her eyes opened, and her gaze speared him, sharp and bright.

"So you made a bad mistake," she said. "And now both of you are going to pay for it."

He nodded but couldn't speak. The telling had emptied him out.

"A mistake. Like mixing up sugar and salt. If you could go back, you'd do it differently. Is that right?"

_Like sugar and salt_. It wasn't that simple.

"If you made a mistake, it's not too late for you. You're young, you're bright, your folks have some money. The system knows mercy for people like you."

"_If _I made a mistake?" Haru said hoarsely.

"If. Because I don't hear a mistake in this tale. I hear a choice. A brave one." She held out her hand; the suicune figurine rested on her open palm. Its serene red eyes bore into Haru: penetrating, judging. Maliki paused. A whole lifetime passed within it. Haru thought of the immobile caterpie, praying that it had the strength to be made new. "And now you've got to make another one."


End file.
